


Two Miles North of Winter

by Scribblingfortheheckofit (FiliaNoctisPulchris)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: East of the Sun West of the Moon, F/M, In which I play with a whole bunch of fairy tales, M/M, The Snow Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiliaNoctisPulchris/pseuds/Scribblingfortheheckofit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please? Tell us a story?"<br/>"Which one? There are as many stories as there are flowers in your garden."' </p><p>A retelling of The Snow Queen with the Hetalia cast. Except it's also a retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon, and maybe a few others along the way. Human names, human AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of a Mirror and its Pieces

Once upon a time, there was a young man who dealt in magic, and many were wary of him.  He did not understand why, but when he tried to look in his mother’s old mirror, he had no reflection.  This upset the man, so he went about creating a new mirror, infused with his own magics.

This was no ordinary mirror, however, for he had put much of his magic into its creation.  In this mirror, every fault in the reflected image was magnified, and every virtue diminished to the point of invisibility.  When he held the mirror to reflect the forest around his home, he saw the dead leaves and the rotting wood of the old trees, and the bloody carcasses that predators had left behind, but none of the birds or the flowers.  When he turned the mirror upon one of the loveliest girls in the village, he saw not her charm and grace but the mole on her neck, which seemed to take over a goodly portion of her face.

But when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw only himself, with his red hair and his blue eyes, and with longer, pointed teeth.

The man was confused, but let it pass.  If his flaw was being who he was, then there was nothing to be done.  “That is not a fault of mine,” he said to himself, “But a fault of the world.”

Then he began to wonder what the other faults of the world were.  “If I fly the mirror up high enough into the sky,” he wondered, “Would it reflect the whole world?  I shall try it and see.” And try he did.  With his magic, he gave himself the wings of a raven, and flew up as far as he could go, and further.

He had started not long after sunset, but he flew through the night, and when the sun came up it burned at his skin and set his feathered wings alight with a white fire.  Howling in pain, he lost his grip on the mirror, and it fell to the Earth and shattered into more pieces than anyone could imagine.

When the young man discovered this, he was saddened, for he knew that he had unleashed a great evil on the world.  Some of the pieces of his mirror may have been too small to see, but they each had within them all the power that the whole mirror had. So if a splinter found its way into the glass of a windowpane, through that glass one would see only the ugly parts of the landscape, and never one’s friends.  If a piece was made into spectacles, the person looking though them would see the same ugliness that had been reflected in the mirror.  The man felt his heart ache for these people.

But worse were the smallest grains of the mirror, which were taken up on the wind and blown all around the world.  Some of these pieces blew into the eyes of men and stayed, and thereafter these people could see only the evil and twisted ways of the world, and turned bitter and cruel.  Other bits flew into men’s hearts, and the moment that happened even the most loving heart was frozen into a lump of ice.

The man wept for these poor people, who had come to evil by his doing, and he could only hope for their sake that the world was not as flawed as he had once wondered.


	2. Of a Little Boy and a Little Girl

In a small town near a different forest lived a little girl, who desperately wanted a garden but had no place to put it.  Her father had little land, so he planted his fields almost up to their doorstep, and the path to their house was sheltered in the summer by the tall corn.  There was another path out the back-door that the little girl used to go out to play in the trees.

It was while she was out playing that she met a little boy, with strange silver hair and red eyes, who pulled her hair and teased her almost constantly.  She almost despaired of him, until one day as she played, she ran afoul of a lone wolf, who was starving and desperate for its next meal.  The little girl had nothing to defend herself with except a small stick, and was sure she would be eaten, when the strange boy leaped in front of her and killed the wolf with the knife he carried.  He turned to her immediately, picked her up off the ground and asked, “Are you alright?”

“I could have saved myself,” she said, looking at him with her wide green eyes.  “You didn’t have to kill it.”

The boy laughed loudly at this, and said, “If I hadn’t, it would have been in pain for days, and tried to eat some other little girl.” She shrugged, because she hadn’t thought of it that way, and then blinked at him as he held out a hand.  “I’m Gilbert.”

“My name is Elizabeta,” she said, and when she took his hand and squeezed it as hard as she could, he grinned.  “Thank you for saving me.”

He laughed at her thanks, pulled her brown ponytail again, and helped her home, and from that day on she knew his teasing was not out of spite.

Elizabeta went out into the forest every day with Gilbert.  They would play as knights, or great heroes when Gilbert wanted, and sometimes Elizabeta even let him win their play fights.  He helped her plant a small garden of wild flowers in a sunny corner of a clearing, and tended it with her more gently than she expected him to.  Sometimes she brought books with her, and they would sit under a tree and read and look at the pictures. 

One day, they were laying in the sun after a long morning of running about defending their kingdom, and Elizabeta started singing the lullaby her grandmother sang to her when it stormed.  It was a simple melody, and told of the coming spring, and Gilbert could only smile at it, even though her voice wavered and went a bit off pitch.  A few days later, when she was tired from staying up with her grandmother to help with the mending, Gilbert sang the same song to her, and tucked one of her wildflowers behind her ear while she fell asleep with her head in his lap.

“Where do you live, Gilbert?” Elizabeta asked on a different day.  “And why do you always come here to play with me?”

“My grandfather is teaching my baby brother to talk,” Gilbert said.  “When he is older, I will bring him with me, but for now grandfather does not have time for both of us and his work. So I come here.”

When the first snow fell that winter, Elizabeta’s grandmother told her she could not go out to play, and the girl fought and fought to get to the door.  Her father had to continue his work, and the preparations for winter, but she was not allowed out. Only a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door.  Grandmother opened it to find a cold and snow-covered Gilbert on the step, and bundled him inside without a word. Elizabeta wrapped him in her favorite blanket, and grandmother made them both hot chocolate, and they sat together in front of the fire, looking out the window at the snow.

“They are the snow bees, who swarm in the cold and make ice for their honey,” grandmother said as she put a tray of cookies into the oven.

“Do they choose a queen, like the bees of the forest?” Gilbert asked, for he had stolen honey from many bees in his short life, and knew their habits well.

The old grandmother smiled and nodded, and Gilbert grinned widely back at her.  “She is the largest, and stays in the thickest of swarms.  She has never been welcomed on the earth, but sometimes she likes to peep in the windows and see what we people do.  And when she leaves, the windows are frozen with beautiful pictures.”

“She sounds so lonely,” Elizabeta said, peering again out the window.  “Can we let her in?”

“Oh, don’t.  She has frozen me today,” Gilbert told his friend spitefully.  “If she comes inside, I’ll put her on the stove and melt her.”

Elizabeta just hugged him, ignoring the pink flush that bloomed on his cheeks, and grandmother smiled and told another story.

He came by every day of that winter, and sat with Elizabeta and her grandmother while her father stayed in the other room, doing what work he could.  “Why do you not stay home, Gilbert?” Elizabeta asked him one day.  “Would you not be warm there?”

“My grandfather is teaching my baby brother to read,” Gilbert said.  “He has work to do as well, and has no time to take care of me.”

“Does your brother not miss you?” Elizabeta asked him, for she had no brothers or sisters and did not know.

“I go home to him every night, and tell him the stories that your grandmother tells us,” he said, smiling fondly at the old woman as she flipped the pancakes he had requested yet again.  “He knows that I love him, and you would miss me if I did not come.”

Elizabeta shoved him lightly, but didn’t argue, and they curled up together by the fire to hear another tale.

A few years later, when they were allowed to go out and play in the snow, a storm blew up unexpectedly.  Gilbert and Elizabeta clung desperately to one another, for they could not see to find their way through the snow, and curled up to try to stay warm. 

But Snow Queen had looked in their windows, seen the happy times they had passed together, and she wanted them to come and live with her instead, so she could always hear their laughter.  It was Gilbert who first recognized her, with her long white hair and dress, and her ice blue eyes.  He stared back at her over Elizabeta’s head, holding his friend even closer, and called out, “What do you want with us?”

“I only want you to come home with me,” she said, her smile deceptively sweet.  She was cold, with only a bit of ice for a heart, and did not understand why they would not want to go with her.  “You will likely die if you don’t.”

Elizabeta shivered to hear her voice, and whispered up into Gilbert’s ear, “Don’t go.  She’ll freeze you to death if you go.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, just once, before he let her go and stepped towards the Snow Queen.  “I will go with you,” he said, “As long as you let Elizabeta return home safely.” The wind snatched his words away from him, so that Elizabeta could not hear, but the Snow Queen heard.  She nodded once, and guided Gilbert to her silver sleigh.

Elizabeta reached out after him, and called his name, but he would not turn back.  When the sleigh flew away, she was left alone in the snow, tired and mournful and confused, and barely made it back to the edge of her father’s field before she collapsed from the cold.

* * *

She woke in the home of the town’s doctor, with his son Roderich beside her bed holding a bowl of soup for her.  He blinked owlishly at her for a moment from behind his spectacles, and she couldn’t help but wish to herself that his violet eyes were the bright red ones she was used to.

“Your father brought you here after he found you,” Roderich told her, “And my father will make you well again.  But your fingers and toes were so frozen that it will take some time.  You’re lucky to be alive at all.”  Elizabeta nodded, and let him feed her when she discovered her own fingers were too stiff to hold a spoon.  For the next few days, Roderich and his father took care of her, and she became friends with the boy.

It was different than her friendship with Gilbert, for Roderich was polite and never spoke even a joking word against her.  He did not hug her as the other boy had, but when she cried for her lost friend, he always had comforting words and a kind smile for her.  She told him about her wildflowers in the forest and he immediately spoke to his father, who gave her a small bit of their land on which to grow a proper garden.  Roderich played his piano while she tended it, and her rosebushes grew tall and strong.  He taught her how to be a proper lady like his mother, who Elizabeta admired greatly, and how to play the little lullaby she had grown to love so much on his piano.  He brought her gifts as they grew older, and she came to love him very much.

Still, there were days when the warmth of his home and the delight of his music grew stale, and Elizabeta would excuse herself to run through the forest.  Restless feet would carry her to the clearing where her old garden had grown wild and untamed, or to past the trees and rocks that had once been thrones.  She would sometimes stand for hours, with the wind pulling at her skirts and combing through her hair, and Roderich would find her there, listening for something that was just a bit too far away to hear.  He never said a word, just watched and waited for her to turn homewards once the sun began to sink beyond the western horizon.

When Elizabeta reached the age of twenty, Roderich asked her to be his wife, and she accepted with a wide smile.  They planned to be married the following spring, and Elizabeta’s grandmother smiled at the news, though there was still a small shadow in her old eyes, as she heard the north wind blow cold past the window.

It was only a few days afterwards that, while they were out walking together, Roderich stopped for a moment and put a hand to his eye, which had gone quite red behind his spectacles. “What is it?” Elizabeta asked in a worried voice, “Are you hurt?”

“A piece of dust must have blown into my eye,” he said, blinking a few times before looking down at her.  “It is gone now.”  A moment later, though he said nothing of it, he felt a sharp pain in his chest as well.

He pushed Elizabeta away from him, and walked back to his home alone.  When she went to see what was the matter, his father said that he did not appear to be ill, but he had been playing the piano ever since he came home.

The good doctor was wrong, for something was very much amiss with his son, but it was not his fault. It was a piece of the magic mirror that had blown into his eye, and another had found its way into his heart, freezing it to ice.  Elizabeta and the doctor listened as Roderich played every note of a complicated sonata perfectly, but without any emotion whatsoever, and sighed.

The next day, in the few moments he took away from his music, he came outside and told Elizabeta that her roses were infested with insects, and that they were not all that lovely anyway.  When the pair joined his mother for tea, he criticized her manner and made condescending remarks about her father until even his mother told him sharply to hold his tongue.  Elizabeta merely looked away, wondering what she had done to displease him so.

“It is not you, my darling,” her grandmother told her.  “You are just as wonderful as ever.”

“But then what else could it be?” Elizabeta asked, and her grandmother had no answer for her, only a sad smile.

When winter came Roderich was much the same. He would play the piano until his fingers hurt, then eat alone, unless someone was willing to sit with him and endure his biting remarks.  This was most often Elizabeta, who still loved him despite his cruel words.

One day, she found him in the window during tea time, looking at snowflakes through a magnifying glass.  “Look at them, Elizabeta,” he said, though he did not offer her the glass.  “Are they not beautiful?  They would be perfection, if they didn’t melt.  If only the whole world could be like these snowflakes.”

After that, he took to walking by himself during their mealtimes, and eating at odd hours, and sleeping very little.  He would go out into storms even when Elizabeta begged him not to, and ignored her attempts to warm him when he came back.  When the worst storm of the winter came, he still put on his coat and went out walking, though again his fiancée begged him to stay inside with her.

On this walk, he happened upon a young woman in a fur coat of perfect white, with long white hair tied in a white bow, standing next to a beautiful sleigh. “Are you in need of assistance, madam?” he asked, for she was the first beautiful thing he had seen in quite some time, and he was eager to make a good impression.

“My sleigh is stuck,” she said with a small smile.  “I need someone strong and clever to help me free it.”

“I may not be as strong as some,” Roderich replied with a small bow, “But I am as clever as they come and at your service.”

The Snow Queen, for that was who she was, smiled as she saw his frozen heart. She accepted his help and together they pushed her sleigh out of the snowdrift it had been caught in.  She thanked him for his help, which she had not really needed, and he bowed once more to her before turning towards home.

“Wait,” she said, calling his attention back.  “Are you cold, Roderich?”

He did not question how she knew his name, though he might have at any other time.  Instead, he nodded, and stepped into her embrace when she held out her arms. The fur of her coat was warm around him, but he still felt cold on the inside, so he continued to shiver.  The Snow Queen wrapped her arms tighter around him, and when he still didn’t stop, pressed a kiss to his lips.

In the moment that she kissed him, Roderich felt as cold as ice all through his body and a strange silence in his soul, and was certain he was going to die.  But then she let him go, and her eyes met his, and suddenly he felt no more bite in the wind, and no more chill in the snow.  He shook his head slowly, and smiled just a bit.

“Come with me,” she said.  “I can take you to a place where even you will find only beauty.”  She held out a hand, and Roderich hesitated only a moment before taking it, and following her into the sleigh.  As the snowflakes lifted the sleigh off the ground and away into the sky, she leaned over and kissed him again, and in that moment he forgot his family, and Elizabeta, and everyone in the town.

When she pulled away, he looked at her with shining eyes, only to be told, “Now, you may have no more kisses.  Any more and I might kiss you to death.”

He nodded, even though he did not understand, and turned to watch the scenery below them fly by.  When he saw nothing as lovely as the Snow Queen there, he looked up instead at the bright moon, which was now visible as they flew above the storm, and found it pleasing enough.  And so he sat in the Snow Queen’s sleigh, watching the silver moon until he fell asleep.

Elizabeta waited all night for him to return, and it wasn’t until the clock struck noon that she began to cry.  At that moment, she knew in her heart that he would not come back, and as she cried the north wind wailed with her, whipping around the house until the storm blew itself out.


	3. Of the Flower-Garden and the Man Who Lived There

The town mourned the loss of Roderich, for no one knew where he had gone, only that he had been out in the storm.  When the snow melted and spring came, they buried an empty coffin for him, as even the doctor said that no man could have survived the storm, and if his son had, he would have come home.

Elizabeta wept bitterly for him, and often ran to the forest she had known as a child to be alone, and away from the pity of the townsfolk.  Only her grandmother could comfort her.

“He is dead and gone,” Elizabeta had told her grandmother, but the old woman merely shook her head.  She went to plant flowers on Roderich’s grave, but they would not grow, no matter what she did, and the mourning doves that lived nearby cooed their disapproval and quiet disbelief.

After many weeks of this, Elizabeta started to believe that he was not dead after all, and she went to her grandmother to tell her she was going to look for him.  The elderly woman was fast asleep in her chair, sitting in a ray of sunlight, so Elizabeta kissed her and left one of her reddest roses in the woman’s hands.  She then pulled on the good boots that she only wore when she gardened, pinned up her long hair, and left.

She went to the river that ran through the forest, where she had first learned to swim, and called out, “If you know where my Roderich is, than tell me!  Did you take him away?”  The little river burbled playfully over the rocks on its bottom, but gave no answer.  “I will give you my good boots, if you can tell me where he is.”  She took the boots off, and threw them into the water, but there was still no answer.  For a moment, Elizabeta paused, twisting the ring he had given her around her finger.  

“If I jump in myself, will you take me to him?” she asked, and though the river could not answer her, there was a determined glint in her eye.  She dove into the river after her boots, and let the water carry her along, moving just enough to keep herself afloat.

The river was swollen with snowmelt, though, and was colder than she had thought.  As the river carried her, Elizabeta grew colder and colder, and panicked a little as she felt herself becoming more and more sluggish in the water.  The pins were pulled out of her hair and lost, so that the long strands tangled around her, heavy with water.  Just as she knew she had to get out or face drowning in her exhaustion, she heard a voice scream, “Ludwig! Help, there’s someone in the river!”

Moments later, a pair of warm and strong arms were wrapped around her, lifting her up and out of the river and carrying her to shore, and she was tempted to just fall asleep there.  But a bright smiling face appeared in front of her, with wide brown eyes and a mop of coppery-brown hair, and said, “Ve, Ludwig, she’s pretty!”

“I suppose.” This voice was much deeper, and rumbled through the body that held her.  “Go find her something dry to wear, ja?”

With an energetic affirmative, the first man skipped off, and Elizabeta felt her rescuer moving again.  She looked up at him, and was met with a pair of eyes so blue it was almost shocking.  “I can walk,” she said, squirming a little in his grasp, and he nodded silently before placing her gently on the ground.  “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“You are welcome,” he said.  The two stood in slightly awkward silence until a shriek came from the house.  He ran a hand through the strands of blond hair that were falling into his face, and sighed.  “I should probably go and see what he’s done now.”

Elizabeta followed the man silently through the gate, closing it behind her without noticing, and her eyes lit up on seeing the garden.  The man, Ludwig, opened the door and held it for her, so she stepped inside and stood uncomfortably in the middle of a room full of paintings, slowly making a puddle of river water on the floor.

By the time the other man returned with a new set of clothes for Elizabeta, Ludwig had passed her a towel and was drying his own hair with another one.  “I swear, Feliciano, this is the last time I’m jumping in that river for you,” the blond growled as even more of his hair settled over his eyes.

“But Ludwig, I would have drowned myself before I was able to save the pretty lady, and you are strong,” Feliciano replied, his same grin firmly in place as he turned to Elizabeta.  “I’m sorry, but I only have my clothes and Ludwig’s. Your boots are outside, and should be dry by tomorrow.  I can try to fix your dress, but...” He gestured to the sodden garment she was wearing, and shrugged.

Elizabeta smiled despite herself, and shook her head.  “No need,” she said, as she squeezed her hair out into the towel.  “I know when something’s ruined.  And anything you have is better than nothing.”

At this, the small man skipped forward to press a shirt and pair of trousers into her hands, and winked to her as he started off in the other direction.  “You take the room across the hall,” he called.  “Ludwig will show you.  Change, and I’ll make pasta! Then while you eat I can comb your hair for you!”

“Thank you,” she said, as Ludwig opened one of the other doors for her.  Inside was a bed and a small table, and that was all, for it was not a very large room.  But the window was open and looked out on the garden, the walls were painted with beautiful scenes, and the sunlight came streaming in.  She almost wished she could stay.

The bright blue trousers Feliciano had given her fit well enough, but were too long, so she rolled the hems up to her knees.  The shirt was a creamy white, soft and well made, and he had even thought to give her a sash to pull both the shirt and trousers in at her waist.  If she was honest with herself, it was the most comfortable she’d been in a long time.

When she returned to the main room, Feliciano immediately sat her down, and put a large bowl of pasta in front of her.  “Eat,” he said, as he flitted around the room.  “It is good pasta, yes?”  Elizabeta looked up to see his eyes shining and expectant, so she took a small bite.  It was, of course, delicious, and she grinned at him.  “Good!  Now you must tell me all about yourself!  What were you doing in the river?”

“My name is Elizabeta,” she said, between mouthfuls of pasta.  “I’m looking for my fiancé, Roderich, who has gone missing.”

Ludwig, who was leaning against the doorframe, looked up sharply at the name, but said nothing, and neither of the others noticed his frown.  Feliciano had, at that moment, found the comb he was looking for and held it up triumphantly.  “Ve, Miss Elizabeta, may I comb your hair?  I’ve always wanted a sister who would let me.”

Elizabeta nodded, for the small man had been nothing but kind to her and his friend had saved her, and he was so adorable that she could not think of denying him anything.  He kept smiling brightly, and skipped around to stand behind her.  “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, letting her eyes close as Feliciano ran the comb through her hair, and started picking his way gently through the knots.  “He was wonderful, and then one day he hated me.  He would go out walking in the snow, and then one night he didn’t come home.  I don’t know what has happened to him, but I will find out.”

Feliciano hummed behind her, and she sat silently for a while, eating the rest of the pasta he had made for her.  “I’m sure you’re tired from all that swimming,” he said when he had finished combing her hair, and had plaited it quickly and tying it with a ribbon.  “You should rest, and tomorrow, I will show you my garden.”

“As lovely as I’m sure it is,” Elizabeta said, “I have to find Roderich.” She looked up at Ludwig, who was still in the doorway, but the taller man seemed lost in thought.  “I’ll stay one night, but I must be going in the morning.”

So she went back to the room Feliciano had given her, and realized how exhausted she actually was.  She curled up in the bed, which was softer than any she had slept in before, and wrapped herself in warm blankets, and was asleep almost instantly.

Whether it was something in the pasta, or the soft bed, or simply the beauty of the morning sunshine spilling though her window, when she woke the next morning, Elizabeta had no memories of Roderich, or how she had come to this house with the painted walls and the garden. She remembered Feliciano and Ludwig, who greeted her in the kitchen.

“Elizabeta!” Feliciano called, running over to throw his arms around her.  “Ludwig made breakfast, and then you should come and help me in the garden!  And I can show you my paintings, and, ve, will you let me paint you?”

Elizabeta smiled, even as she met Ludwig’s exasperated expression.  “If you want to,” she answered, “But let me eat first.”

He let her go, looking sheepishly down at her for a minute before gesturing for her to pass. Ludwig handed her a plate, and both men sat to eat with her.  When they had finished, Feliciano dragged Elizabeta to the other room to look at his paintings.  “You saw the ones in your room, of course,” he said, “But these ones are my favorites.”  There were many different flowers, all captured in loving detail, and even a few of the river.  

One, which was in the center, was of Ludwig, asleep and surrounded by cornflowers the exact color of his eyes.  She smiled at it, and Feliciano’s eyes lit up.  “He wouldn’t pose for me, but I like it anyway.  He told me not to do any more, though.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, looking pointedly in the direction of the kitchen, where Ludwig was washing their dishes.  “He’s just shy, I think.  Now about this garden?”

“Do you like gardening?” Feliciano asked, as he led her outside.  “I manage, but I’ve never been very good, and Ludwig tries, but he’s just not right for it.  I hope the flowers like you!”  Elizabeta giggled, as he pulled her along.

“I used to tend wildflowers,” she said, then blinked once.  “When I was small.  And there was a little boy who helped me.”  She stopped for a moment, thinking back, before she caught Feliciano’s eyes again.  “He wasn’t as nice as you are.”

At this, Feliciano pouted.  “That’s sad, Elizabeta.  Why wasn’t he nice to you?”

“He just liked to tease me,” she said.  “That’s all.  Now I want to see your garden, and all the flowers you painted.”

So Elizabeta helped Feliciano tend to his garden, and there were many times when she took his hands and showed him the proper way to pull weeds or clip sickly branches.  After some time, Ludwig came to join them, and sat with a book in the shade of the oak tree that stood in the center of the garden, pretending he wasn’t watching.

When the sun had climbed to the very top of the sky, the three of them ate the sandwiches that Ludwig had brought out with him in the sunlit garden, and Feliciano looked at Ludwig and said, “Tell us a story?  Please?”

“Which one?” the blond man asked, a small smile pulling at his mouth.  “There are as many stories as there are flowers in your garden.”

Feliciano grinned, turned around and hummed to himself as he looked at his flowers.  “Which story would the Tiger Lily tell me, Ludwig?”

Ludwig thought for a moment, then said, “They would tell of the mourning Hindu woman, who dances to the drum as her husband’s funeral pyre burns.  Her eyes shine with tears, and she wonders if the heart’s fire is so weak as to be consumed by the flames of the pyre.  It is not a happy story, and I do not think you would like it.”

“What about the little snow-drop flowers?” Feliciano asked, his eyes hopeful.  “Surely they can tell a nice story.”

And so it went on, like a game.  The snow drops told about a little boy pushing a little girl on a swing, and how she had ribbons in her hair, but the words would be too melancholy for Feliciano.  The hyacinths had a tale about three maidens dancing in the moonlight, but they were dead and the bells toll for them, so he would not like it.  The buttercups told of an old grandmother, who was left alone by her granddaughter, and even Elizabeta was saddened to hear this, for she felt badly that she had not said goodbye to her own grandmother.

“Are there no happy stories, Ludwig? None with nice, pretty endings?” Feliciano asked, looking very much like he was about to burst into tears.  “Why are all the flowers so sad?”

Elizabeta took the young man’s hand and squeezed it, and Ludwig reached over and pulled Feliciano into a tight hug.  “They live in the ground, where the dead are, Feliciano,” Ludwig said, softly.  “They only know the stories that the dead tell them.  But I know more, for I remember the stories of the living as well.

“So I will tell you a story about the fairies, who live far away.  There was one, called Narcissa, who was said to be the most beautiful of all the fairies.  But she spent all her time at the lake, looking at her own reflection, and her parents were lonely. So they wished for another child, and they named her Forget-Me-Not, after the beautiful flowers that grew by their home.”

Elizabeta remembered this story, for it was one that her grandmother had told her, so she whispered to Ludwig, who she could tell was upset by his friend’s sadness, and they made a play out of it.  Elizabeta took the parts of Narcissa and Forget-Me-Not, while Ludwig played as the old crone and her son, the fairy prince.  By the end of their playacting, Feliciano was laughing again, and kissed both their cheeks.

When Feliciano had gone inside to retrieve his painting supplies, Elizabeta asked Ludwig, “Where did you learn so many stories?”

“I had a brother once, who would tell me stories before I fell asleep,” Ludwig told her, his eyes closing as he withdrew into his thoughts again. “I don’t know where he learned them, but I remember them all.”

There was a short pause, and though Elizabeta knew there was more to this tale, she also knew that she would not hear it.  So she smiled and returned to the gardening, and he sat under the tree again with his book, and when Feliciano returned, he set up his easel and painted Elizabeta as she weeded the tulip bed.

They lived this way for some time, though Elizabeta never really knew how long it was, only that there was always sunshine, and a seemingly never-ending supply of pasta.  She gardened, Feliciano painted, and Ludwig read, usually quietly but sometimes aloud in his low, rumbling voice.  Elizabeta likely would have gone on living in the little painted house with the garden, had Ludwig not woken her one night and pushed her long forgotten boots into her hands.

“My brother was stolen from me, years ago, and I came here when I went looking for him,” the man said, looking straight into her eyes.  “You have helped me to remember him, so I will help you to remember as well.  Do you know how you came to be here?”

At that moment, Elizabeta remembered all about Roderich and her quest to find him, and she nodded and pulled her boots on.  “Thank you, Ludwig.  I owe you much,” she said.  “If there is ever anything you need, you have only to ask.”

“Find your Roderich,” he said. “I cannot leave Feliciano, for his heart would break if he was left alone.  But if you come across my brother along your way, tell him where I am, and that I would search for him if I could.”

Elizabeta nodded again, and accepted the small knapsack he pressed into her hands.  “I will,” she said, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek.  In the dark, she didn’t see him blush, and smiled fondly at him.  “Take care of each other.”

Then she took the bag and walked out the door and away into the forest before she forgot again what she had set out to do.


	4. Of a Prince and his Fool

Elizabeta walked with the rising sun on her right, in the hopes that Roderich had followed the snow that he had come to love so much, and that lead her though a dense forest. She stopped after many hours of pushing her way through underbrush and stumbling over roots, and opened the pack that Ludwig had given her.

Inside was enough bread, cheese, and salted strips of meat to last her for a few days if she was careful, as well as three candles, a bit of flint, and a small knife. Elizabeta smiled and whispered a quiet thanks to Ludwig, and cut a small bit of cheese to spread on a piece of bread for her lunch. She found herself missing Feliciano's pasta more and more as she continued on, eating bread and cheese and occasionally salted meat, but it was good enough to keep her going for three days.

When she stopped for her midday meal on the fourth day after that, she found that she had run out, and sighed to herself. However, as only fortune can decide, there was a loud crash only a small way off, and she heard someone call for help.

What she found when she ran over to help was a finely dressed man, with an abundance of blond curls, hanging upside down from a tree by his ankle. He had clearly become entangled in some trap meant for an animal, and could not reach to untie the rope that had caught him. Elizabeta immediately reached for the knife that had been in the bag, and called, "Wait one moment, sir, and I shall have you free!"

"Ah, _merci, merci beaucoup_!" he called back. Elizabeta found the place where the rope was tied to the base of the tree, and made sure to stand on the rope before cutting the knot so he did not come crashing down to the ground. She lowered him slowly down, then cut the rope from his ankle.

The man regarded her with dark blue eyes, clearly curious. "I thank you, _mademoiselle_ ," he said in a thick accent, "But what are you doing out here all alone?"

"I'm looking for my fiancé," she said. Once the knot was cut, she stood and offered a hand to help him up, and walked back with him to the clearing where she had left her few remaining supplies. "He disappeared during the winter, and though my whole town thinks him dead, I don't believe it."

"Ah, so it is for _l'amour_ ," the man said, and Elizabeta saw his eyes brighten at the word. "You must let me help you then, for I, Francis Bonnefoy, will do anything for such a cause! You need only name it, and it shall be done."

Francis bowed deeply to her, and Elizabeta could not quite contain the small giggle that escaped her. "Well, I do need supplies." She showed him the small bit of cheese and bread she had left, and he tutted. "This is all I have left. Is there anywhere I can get more?"

"Is that all, cherie?" he asked, his smile only growing. "I work in the kitchens of the prince who lives near here. I will find you much better _nouriture_ than this, and we will ask the prince himself for help in finding your lost love."

Elizabeta simply gave him a confused look. "You know the prince?" she asked, to which Francis merely shrugged. "Then how do you know he will help me?"

"The prince knows much about losing his loved ones," Francis said. "He will certainly understand your plight, and he has magic that can help you. And I have a good friend who can bring you to see him.

"You see, our prince has had many fools in his palace to entertain him, but there was one of whom he was particularly fond. The boy would argue with the prince for hours, and play games or build models, and it was clear to everyone who knew them that they were the best sort of friends. But the fool grew up before the prince realized it, and he didn't want to just be the prince's _chouchou_ , to serve his every whim, and so he left to make a new place for himself in the world. There is not a soul amongst us that does not remember the prince's bitter sorrow over this, though he tried very hard to hide it."

Elizabeta watched the man gesture as he spoke, and felt her heart ache for both the prince and the fool. "Did the fool never return? Did the prince not search for him?"

"There were many times that the prince asked his guards to go out and bring back his fool, and every time they returned empty handed. So the prince learned to live without his friend, and for a few years was miserable and lonely. He was often angry, purely for the sake of not being sad, and when he was even those he knew could only think to repeat back what he said to them, and this only angered the prince more.

Then, not long ago, he disappeared into his rooms for many days, and when we saw him again, he was singing to himself, a song that began, 'Why should I not be married,'. You can only imagine how happy we were to hear this, and even more so when he told us he planned to marry someone who he could call his equal."

Here Francis paused for effect, looking over to see Elizabeta glaring at him in a way that screamed, 'Will you help me or not?"

"The news spread, and many young ladies came to meet the prince. None of them met his standards. We had lost all but the last strands of hope, when a man pushed his way through the gates, walked right past the line of young ladies and into the throne room, only to start complaining about how the prince had done nothing for his people recently, and that he was disappointed. It was, of course, the same fool who had left the few years before, back as if nothing had happened, and since his return the prince has given up on marriage entirely."

Francis finished his story with a dramatic wave of his hand and a small bow, but Elizabeta merely fixed a skeptical look on him. "That's all well and good," she said, "But I'm not sure I understand you. This is why he will help me?"

"You will see," the man said, as he took her hand and started leading her though the woods. " _Mon petit Matthieu_ will bring you to see him, for the prince is not overly fond of me, and he will help if you tell him what you need. I will, in the meantime, gather supplies for you from my kitchens."

Not long after, Elizabeta found herself being dragged through a side gate, into what appeared to be a small walled city. And yes, maybe there was something green growing in the cracks between the stones, and maybe the walls were a little crooked in places, but she saw all the people bustling about, heard the clamor of more voices than she'd ever heard before, her jaw dropped and Francis easily lead her to the kitchens by the side of the palace, where he sat her down on a stool and told her to wait for her guide.

Petit Matthieu turned out to be significantly taller and broader than Francis, but Elizabeta still didn't notice him in the kitchens until he tapped her on the shoulder. "I've never seen you here before," he said in barely a whisper of a voice, and Elizabeta spun around wildly, and fell into the same stance she'd used in her play-fights as a child. "But any friend of Francis' can't be that bad. Who are you?"

"Elizabeta," she said, relaxing almost painfully slowly. "You must be...Matthieu? Francis says your prince can help me find someone."

"It's Matt, usually," he said, shrugging his shoulders a little and stealing a glance at Francis. "But I'm going to ask you to call me Alfred until we get inside the palace. I'll go with you past the guards, and point you the right way, but after that you're on your own."

Matt watched her steadily, raising an eyebrow as she blinked at him. "Alfred?" she asked, finally, and he nodded. "Why Alfred?"

"Al has full run of the palace, and as of now has neglected to mention that he has a twin brother," Matt replied, smirking a little. "Arthur has met me on multiple occasions, but he's yet to actually remember me."

They both heard Francis scoff from the storeroom behind them. "One day I am going to tell him how disgustingly easy it is to sneak into his rooms," the older man called, "And I will never let him forget it."

"Oh, please," Matt called back, "Then he would fix it. What would you do then? And besides, as long as you don't look exactly like the prince's closest friend, it's actually relatively difficult to break in."

They tossed a few more comments back and forth, Matt following Francis when he lapsed into French, until Elizabeta said, "So, are we going or not? It's getting late."

Matt bit back a curse as he looked out the window and saw that it was, in fact, completely dark, streets illuminated only the occasional lanterns. "You're right," he said,

"We should probably go now, unless you want to wait for morning. Wouldn't want to intrude on them while they sleep, would we?"

"Lead the way," Elizabeta replied, and she followed him out the door and down the street. Matt walked lightly, and she found herself struggling to keep up sometimes. But she did notice that a number of people greeted him as Alfred, and that only one or two winked conspiratorially as they did so. "Do they always mistake you and your brother?"

He shrugged at the question, and gestured to the gate, which was brightly lit and stood in front of the looming shadow that Elizabeta could only assume was the palace. A moment later, he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her forward, calling out to the guards as he went.

"Alfred!" one called back, "I didn't know you were out. Cutting it a little on the late side, aren't we?"

Matt pulled a sheepish smile onto his face, then said, in a much louder voice than he'd used before, "I heard my friend was passing through, and I figured I could let her stay here for the night. And I might have gone out the window."

"Again?" The guard sighed in exasperation. "Is there something wrong with the doors?"

"Doors are boring," Matt whined. "And Arthur gets all huffy with me when I climb out the window. You think I'd pass that up?"

Elizabeta was about to interrupt, and ask why Matt was acting this way, but the guard merely sighed again and waved them through. Matt pulled on her wrist, and she followed him through the gate and into the palace. They walked down the corridors, turning occasionally, until Matt pulled them to a stop and pointed at a large door at the end of the hall.

"That is where my brother and the prince will be," he said, finally letting go of her wrist. "I can go no further with you, but I wish you luck. When you are ready to leave, tell Alfred that Francis has the rest of your things."

His voice was once again hushed, and he had slouched again without seeming to realize it. Elizabeta could only blink a few times, then say, "What was that about?"

"You really think you can grow up with someone and not learn to imitate him?" Matt laughed when Elizabeta didn't appear to have an answer. "Didn't you have any siblings? Close friends? Anyone?"

When she still said nothing, Matt merely squeezed her shoulder and departed with a small encouraging smile. Elizabeta took a deep breath as she turned to face the door, and bit back a smile when she saw the unicorn that had been carved into it. She slowly pushed the door open, and saw that the room was dark. She lit one of the candles Ludwig had given her at the lamp in the hall, and considered her options. Once again, she forced herself to the darkened room, for she would likely not be allowed back in, and this would be her only chance to see the prince.

Inside, by the flickering candlelight, she saw the silhouettes of soaring eagles on the walls, and a lion and a great hunt chasing each other in circles on the floor, running between two beds on opposite sides of the room. She chose one at random, unable to see the difference in the dim light, and walked to it as slowly and silently as she could.

The man sleeping in the bed was curled tightly around his pillow, his face barely visible under a mop of blond hair, and his skin pale. She smiled a little to herself when she heard him muttering in his sleep, and thought this must be the prince. When a moment later he shivered, she reached over to pull his blankets up around him, deciding to wait for morning after all, but a few drops of melted wax fell from the candle in her other hand, and onto the sleeve of his nightshirt.

He woke instantly, with a cry of pain, and lashed out at Elizabeta with his fists as soon as he saw her standing over him. His cries woke the other sleeper, a larger man who was at his prince's side in an instant, glaring at Elizabeta even as he murmured comforts into the prince's ear and drew the sleeve with the wax away from his arm. "Who are you?" The prince's voice was venomous once he found it, and when she looked down at him, Elizabeta was met with a glare from the brightest green eyes she had ever seen. "Don't answer that. Leave, before I have you removed on a skewer."

When the one Elizabeta could only assume was Alfred looked up at her with no less hostility, she blinked and managed to say, "Well, you're definitely his twin..."

"What?"

"Your twin brother," Elizabeta replied as quickly as she could, and curiosity overtook the suspicion in his eyes. "Your eyes are different, and your hair, but otherwise..."

Alfred waved a hand to cut her off. "How do you know Mattie?"

"He was the one that brought me here." Elizabeta sighed upon seeing that the prince clearly had no idea what she was talking about. "The cook, Francis, sent me. He said you could help me."

The prince scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "Of course he sent you to bother me in the middle of the night, the ponce. I probably can help you, but honestly I don't see why I should. You've broken into my chambers while I slept and burned me with wax."

"I can only apologize for that, Highness. I meant no harm, I swear."

He nodded, but gave no further comment, and glared when Alfred asked, "What is it that you need our help with?"

"My name is Elizabeta," she began, "and I'm searching for my fiancé, who was taken from me this winter. But I do not know where I can find him, only that I must."

At this, Alfred turned to the prince, who still wore an expression that mixed irritation with cold indifference. "Artie, it would be easier than pie."

"You say that like pies are easy."

"They're easy to eat," Alfred replied, staring straight at the prince with gradually widening eyes. "Oh, come on. You wouldn't even have to try."

The prince managed to stare back sourly for a good while, before he said, "She could have asked at a reasonable hour. It can wait until morning."

"But Artie, she needs us. Now!" Elizabeta could have sworn she saw the beginnings of tears in his bright blue eyes, and bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Please? It won't take long, and I'll make sure we can sleep in tomorrow?"

Arthur held out for another few moments before sighing and tossing his blankets aside. "Fine. If you insist. Come, Miss Elizabeta, let us see what we can find."

"Your Highness, I don't know how to..." Elizabeta trailed off when he waved dismissively at her.

"Call me Arthur. Evidently you are now a friend of Alfred's, and any friend of his is can call me by my name," he said as he crossed the room and trailed a finger over the spines of a number of books, pausing on a few before selecting one. "Besides, the title sounds ridiculous when I'm in my nightshirt." Within moments, he was assembling an odd assortment of herbs and salts on a small table that had been standing in the corner, which Alfred had moved to the center of the room.

The last item he brought was a highly polished silver basin, filled with water and engraved with symbols around the edge. Elizabeta watched in confusion as he mixed, ground, burned and wafted various ingredients into and around the basin, muttering to himself in what could have been a made-up language for all she could tell, before peering into it for a long time. The water moved on its own, swirling and somehow not spilling out f the basin. Arthur stood perfectly still over the water basin, not blinking once, until she as nearly ready to scream in frustration.

"Well, I think I've found him. He's far from here, but wishes very much to return to you." Elizabeta nodded once, and waited for him to go on. "To find him, you must travel as far as you can to the north, and then find a way to go farther still, to a palace that stands on the sea. That's where he is kept, and I warn you, freeing him will not be an easy task."

He shook his head then, and turned to her. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you more. The vision is gone. I can try again?"

Alfred stood behind Arthur, shaking his head slightly, but Elizabeta was already speaking. "No, I've troubled you enough. I know more than I did, even if that isn't saying much."

"I wish I had something better to tell you." Arthur sat down on his bed, clearly tired from the spell, and absently watched Alfred putting his things away. "I can give you a good horse though, and supplies. You may stay here and rest for as long as you like."

Elizabeta curtseyed deeply, and thanked him. "But I must be going in the morning. As you said, I've a long journey before me yet."

"Take my bed for the night," Alfred said, gesturing across the room. "We haven't the time to prepare you your own, and I won't let a lady sleep on the floor. Artie's drilled that much into my head." Elizabeta accepted with a single nod of her head, and, curled under Alfred's blankets, fell asleep to the sounds of their good natured arguing.

"Git."

"Go back to sleep, you creaky old man."

"I'm only three years your senior."

"You sure? I thought it was at least twenty. Or a thousand."

"Oh, shut it."


	5. Of the Robbers and their Captive

The next morning Elizabeta woke to find Alfred on the floor, wrapped up in what had obviously been Arthur’s blanket, while the prince’s feet stuck out from under the cloak he’d pulled over himself.  She quietly informed the maid that had appeared with breakfast that the two men would be sleeping a while yet, and accompanied her back to the kitchens to retrieve the supplies Francis had promised her.

Matt greeted her from his place in front of the stove, where he was flipping pancakes as easily as breathing, and told her that Francis was in his room putting some last things together.  “He should be back shortly, so wait here.”

“Shall I help you while I wait?” Elizabeta asked, as she crossed the room and took down another pan.  Matt simply nodded, and for a while they stood in silence, cooking pancakes and piling them onto a large platter.  They had made a small mountain by the time Francis appeared, his arms full of a pair of stuffed saddlebags.

“I assume that the good prince decided to give you a horse,” he said, with a smile.  Francis dropped the bags into Elizabeta’s arms, and without waiting for confirmation, pushed her out the door and towards the stables.  “Don’t look now.  Let it be a surprise.”

The man didn’t see her skeptical expression, but she made it anyway. “A surprise?  I’m not sure I know you well enough for that.”

“I am only trying to help you on your way,” Francis said, squeezing her shoulders lightly before pushing her through the stable doors.  “ _Je te promets_. Find a nice place in the sun for your luncheon, and enjoy what I have given you.”

It wasn’t much later that Alfred and Arthur appeared in the stables, where they found Elizabeta feeding even Arthur’s muleheaded stallion out of her open palm. She laughed when she saw the surprise on their faces, rubbed the horse’s nose, and said, “I’ve always liked them. And you did say I could have one for my journey.”

The prince gave her one of his fastest mounts, and they helped her with the tack and her bags before sending her off into the midmorning sunlight.  As soon as she was through the gates, she turned north, and felt the wind in her face.  As she nudged her horse, the wind played with her hair, and tossed the leaves all around her as she rode off into the forest.

A few hours later, Elizabeta came to an open, sunny clearing, and dismounted, taking the bag Francis had packed with her.  She sat down, hoping for anything other than Ludwig’s bread and cheese, but the first thing she found was a golden apple, with a tag on the stem which read, ‘I’m sure you will find some use for this’.  As the sun shone on the apple, she had to squint against the glare, and she quickly stuffed it back into the bag.

“Nice try, _principessa_ ,” called a voice from behind her, “But we saw that.” 

Elizabeta startled, and whirled around to see a very familiar-looking man fiddling with a pistol, dark auburn hair falling into his eyes as he did. She blinked once, then took another moment to stare. “Feliciano?”

There was a long stretch of silence as the two stared openly at one another, before the man pulled his thoughts together. “No. I suppose he didn’t mention me?” When Elizabeta shook her head, he sighed, and gestured at her horse and things.  “I’m not surprised.  Let’s move. She’s coming with us.”

“Why?”  another man asked as he emerged from the bushes. “She won’t cooperate, and it would be much easier to just shoot her and take the bags. And you hate people.”

The first stranger rolled his eyes, and said, “Vash, even with your pretty shooting, Toni doesn’t like bodies, and she’s a lady.  Emma, take the horse.”

“He isn’t mine,” Elizabeta said, “But if you let me on my way, I will give you the golden apple right now, for I have no use for it.” She pulled the apple back out of the bag and held it out, looking back and forth between the two men who had spoken and the other man and woman who had emerged from the brush after them.

They argued amongst themselves, just quietly enough that Elizabeta could not make out their words, but after long debate the first man took the apple, and shoved her towards the others. “You have news that I would hear, but not here. You’re coming with us.”

Elizabeta managed to negotiate sending the prince’s horse back, and as it galloped off, she followed the small band. She had been frightened to discover that while the first man played with his gun openly, the second, Vash, had at least four or five tucked away on his person. Once she realized that, she watched him checking them constantly on the way back with a sort of morbid fascination. The other woman, Emma, and the tall blond man she was talking at, who carried all her worldly possessions like they were nothing, were much less interesting to her.

After walking for a long stretch through the woods, turning at seemingly random intervals for no particular reason, the party walked into a camp that was far to large to have been as much a surprise as it was to Elizabeta.  Upon their arrival, another man sauntered up to them, a playful twinkle in his bright green eyes, and asked, “What have you brought me today, Lovi? A princess?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t care to ask. Vash didn’t shoot her, so you’re welcome.” The leader of the returning band, Lovi, shoved her towards the man she could only assume was the Toni who so disliked dealing with dead bodies, before walking past with an even deeper scowl than before.  A few seconds later, he tossed the golden apple back at Toni, and called out, “She had this. I know how much you like shiny things.”

Toni caught the apple deftly, despite the fact that Lovi had thrown it at his head, and twirled it around in his fingers for a few seconds.  Then he dropped into a overdramatic bow, the golden fruit vanishing as he did so, and shouted to all the world, “Be nice, gentlemen. She is our guest. My lady, I am Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and am at your service from this moment on.  You are...”

“Elizabeta,” she answered, blinking. “But I’m not...”

“Vash, put that away. I said be nice.” Antonio raised an eyebrow in the blond’s direction, and Vash reluctantly tucked a small handgun back into his boot and walked off, only to have a small blonde girl throw herself into his arms. “Lady Elizabeta, it was Francis that gave you this in the city, was it not?” Elizabeta nodded, and Antonio’s smirk widened. “He has sent you to us, though for what purpose I am not sure. Join me by the fire? I’ll get you something to eat, I promise.”

Antonio shooed the other bandits off as he guided Elizabeta over to a rather large pile of pillows next to a roaring bonfire, and gestured for her to sit. After running about for a few minutes, babbling about apples and spindles and Francis, he handed her a steaming plate of rice and chicken, all stained reddish brown by tomatoes.  “So, what is your story?”

“I’ve traveled far already,” Elizabeta began, “And I am searching for my fiancé, who disappeared during a storm in the winter.  All I know is that to find him, I need to continue north, though the prince said my destination was farther north than I would be able to travel, a castle standing on the sea itself.  Do you know any more?”

“That’s easy,” Antonio said with a grin. “You are going to the Palace of the Snow Queen. The way is long, but I may know of one who can help you.”

Elizabeta sighed with relief, but then she remembered her last encounter with the Snow Queen, and saw that there was still a shadow of worry in Antonio’s eyes. They sat in silence, just watching the fire crackle, for a stretch of minutes as the sun settled to the horizon.  “Tell me about your fiancé,” Antonio finally said, without turning from the fire. “What was he like before he disappeared?”

“He was a close friend of mine, and was always kind and generous. He tried to teach me to be a lady and to do things properly, even though I was never very good at it, and he made the most beautiful music. But I think he tired of my failures, because, well...”

Even as she found she didn’t have the right words to describe the transformation, Antonio picked up where she had left off.  “He turned irritable, and was often angry for no particular reason? He looked at the things that had brought him joy with disgust? Snapped at his loved ones? Destroyed cherished possessions?”

“How do you...?”

“The Snow Queen is drawn to people like her.” Antonio’s eyes darkened as he said this, and his cheeriness dissolved.  “Frozen on the inside. They can ignore her cruelty, and are attracted to the harsh beauty of her home. She can use her magics to keep the cold away from them, but she barely needs to. I fear you are searching for a man whose heart has turned to ice, and if so, he will not wish to see you or to leave her until you can thaw him.”

Elizabeta just stared as Antonio lay back heavily on his pillows and closed his eyes.  “Is it possible?” she asked quietly.  “To thaw such a heart?”

“Oh, _sí_. With love and warmth, and sunshine from the soul.”  Antonio didn’t move as he spoke, but Elizabeta could hear a story hiding behind his words.  “But her palace is cold and dark, and your love has chosen her.  It will be difficult.”

“You’ve done it.” He blinked once, twice, then raised an eyebrow.  “You have.  How?  What do I have to do?”

His smile was wry and pitying at the same time, and he shrugged.  “It depends on the heart, but you will have to find what it is he loves most, and what can touch his heart even through the ice and the walls and the cold. Make him see beauty even though he will not look for it.  If it is not your heart’s dearest wish that he come back to you, I do not know how you might succeed.”  

There was a moment of silence before Elizabeta said, “I must try.” Antonio looked up at her and nodded once.  Then, in one continuous movement, he stood and pulled her to her feet.

Antonio lead her to the other side of camp and to the base of a tree, where he called Lovi’s name two or three times before the other man responded.  “Lovi, our guest needs the help of your friend.  You need to let him go.”

“What for?” Came the reply.  “What do I care what she needs?”

“She wants to rescue her prince from the Snow Queen.” Antonio let a few seconds pass before adding, “Lovi, you can’t keep him here forever.”

The dark auburn hair appeared over the top of what must have been essentially a large nest, and then Lovi huffed and said, “Fine, bastard. Just hand over everything I steal. But she has to tell me about Feli first.”

They waited for Lovi to climb down, and as soon as he reached the ground he grabbed Elizabeta by the wrist and yanked her towards the trees, muttering something like, “none of that idiot’s business.” As soon as they were out of Antonio’s earshot, he spun to face her. “So you saw Feliciano.  He was happy? Looked well?”

“He’s perfectly fine,” Elizabeta said, “And living with a friend who takes care of him. He has a garden, and cooks a lot. Ludwig tells him stories.”

Lovi made a face. “Ludwig? He’s still clinging to that bastard?” His tone made Elizabeta nervous, and she started say something in Ludwig’s defense, but Lovi waved her off before a sound escaped her.  “I know, he’s a great guy and really cares, and all that.  I get it, and Feli’s safe and happy. I just don’t like him.  He’s...”

“I’m sorry. You should go visit him, he’d love that.”

The negative reaction to that bordered on violent. “I can’t.  He won’t want to see me.” Elizabeta peered at him curiously, and Lovi took one deep breath. “The last time I saw Feli, I... I wasn’t myself. He likely has some very unhappy memories of me, and I don’t want to bring those back.”

Elizabeta merely nodded, placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, and pretended she didn’t feel him shaking.  They stood silently for a moment before Lovi shook off her hand and started walking back towards Antonio, yelling something that Elizabeta couldn’t make out at all. Antonio’s face lit up though, and he pulled Lovi into a hug as soon as the younger man was close enough.  She stood quietly for a moment, as Toni whispered something to Lovi, and when they separated, Lovi beckoned for Elizabeta to follow them.

In what appeared to be a giant birdcage, though Elizabeta couldn’t fathom why, sat another tall blond man, who managed to look even more unhappy than the one who had aided in her capture. A blue overcoat draped over his shoulder, and a square hat in the same color rested at his feet next to a curious pendant and an intricately carved staff.  He glared at Lovi and Antonio through square spectacles as they approached, then turned a pair of startlingly blue and sharp eyes on Elizabeta.

“Good evening,” Antonio all but sung to him, arm still slung over a grumbling Lovi’s shoulders.  “Lovely weather tonight, don’t you think? Still warm enough to eat outside, but cool enough for good soup.  And the breeze is wonderful.”

“Who’s th’girl?” He asked, ignoring the greeting and babbling completely.

If this surprised Antonio, he didn’t show it.  “This is Elizabeta. She may or may not be a princess, but she needs your help.  I’m hoping that, given it involves your release, that you’ll be gracious enough to aid her.” The man’s face remained stony and he said nothing, so Antonio turned to Elizabeta, and gestured madly.  “Elizabeta, this is the East Wind.”

“I’m sorry, but... he’s the what?” Antonio grinned, and Lovi sighed but neither answered.

“Th’ East Wind. I ride ‘t.” The man in the cage  His eyes narrowed for a moment as he looked at her. “Berw’ld, if y’like.  Where’re y’ goin’?”

“North.” Elizabeta replied.  “As far as you can take me. Then I walk.”

There was a low grunt from Berwald, and he stood up, grabbing the hat, pendant, and staff all in one hand.  “No y’ don’. Th’ others’ll be able t’ take y’ farther.”

“To the Snow Queen’s palace?” A pause, and she saw a flicker of even greater anger cross his face.

“Don’ know. Th’ East Wind isn’t strong ‘nough, but th’ West Wind might be.” His brow furrowed as he thought, before he nodded.  “G’t magic, th’t one.”

 Elizabeta raised an eyebrow at the idea of more magic, but then considered the fact that she was supposedly talking to the East Wind, and shrugged her shoulders.  “Can you bring me to him?”

“Mm. Need m’rider though.” Berwald turned another glare on Antonio and Lovi, and Antonio shrugged good-naturedly.

“You didn’t think we were going to let you leave, but keep your toys, did you?” Berwald just glared harder. “Relax, friend. You’ll have your... contraption.”

Berwald merely nodded and made another inarticulate noise they took to be agreement. It took a few seconds for Antonio to find the key to the birdcage, and another few for him to unlock it, with a few minutes of Lovi complaining in the middle, but eventually, Berwald was free.  It was then that Elizabeta realized he was as broad as her and Lovi put together, and stood more than a full head taller than Antonio.

The four walked over to the other side of the camp, where Lovi whined a bit more, before pulling an oilcloth off of a large contraption that Elizabeta had never seen before.  It stood on a pair of runners like a sledge, but the body was closer to that of a bicycle, with a much broader and more robust frame that one mounted like a horse.  The seat even reminded her of a saddle.  Berwald walked over to crouch next to it, and ran a hand over all the different parts, before standing and reaching a hand out towards Elizabeta.

“Y’ coming?” he asked, when she hesitated.  “‘t’s m’ wind-rider. Prom’se ‘t’s safe. Bu’lt ‘t m’self.”

Elizabeta looked over to Antonio and Lovi, then turned back to Berwald.  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t know how to thank you.  Any of you.”

“Well, Francis payed us for you,” Antonio said with a grin.  “I hope you don’t mind us keeping the apple. It is nice and shiny.” Lovi rolled his eyes, but nodded. “And you brought us information, which covers your dinner. We’re all settled in my books.”

For a moment, Elizabeta looked quizzically back at Antonio, then, when he didn’t seem to notice, asked, “What about everything you told me?”

“Use it to beat the Snow Queen, and we’ll call it even,” he said.  “If you can’t do it, then it wasn’t worth much to you anyway, sí?”

She turned next to Lovi, who said nothing, but held her eyes for a moment before nodding once. “I mean it,” Elizabeta said. “You should go. He likes hearing stories, and he’ll listen to yours.” All she got was another nod, but his scowl wasn’t quite as deep when she turned to Berwald.

“They let m’ go,” he said. “B’cause ‘f you. I’ll take y’ ‘s far ‘s I can.”  He reached a little farther towards her, and she took his hand.

After Berwald had settled her onto the seat, and draped his overcoat over her shoulders despite her protests, she twisted around and said a quiet “Thank you,” to both Antonio and Lovi.  The taller man then climbed onto the wind-rider behind her, and reached around her to fit his pendant into the indentation, where it spun for a second before settling.

“Points ‘s home,” Berwald said, before he let out a long piercing whistle, and tugged on two of the cords that he had running behind her back. The wind-rider, even with two passengers, leapt up onto the breeze that had kicked up, and sped off smoothly through the sky, in what seemed a roughly north-westerly direction. Elizabeta pulled Berwald’s coat closer around her, leaned back into his chest for warmth, and closed her eyes, trusting herself to the East Wind and its rider.


	6. Of Lapland, Finland, and the Four Winds

Elizabeta didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she jolted awake and found herself wrapped in Berwald’s coat, and the wind-rider on the ground.  Berwald climbed off, and held out a hand to her.  “This‘s it,” he said. “Home ‘f th’ winds.”

“And where is that?” Elizabeta looked around at the desolate, snowy wilderness around them, completely unfamiliar with any of it.

Berwald answered with just one word, “Lapl’nd.”

It was oddly quiet as the wind dissipated, and their words seemed to echo in the trees that surrounded the house, cut back in a neat circle presumably so that the riders could land.

“You think the others will help me?” Elizabeta asked, stared at his offered hand.  Berwald nodded.  “But they have no reason to. I’m no one special, and I’m sure the winds keep you busy.”

Berwald’s eye twitched a little behind his glasses, but otherwise he didn’t move.  “They h’ve a reas’n.  ‘nd I owe y’.  They’ll h’lp.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Elizabeta took his hand, and let him lead her into the squat little wooden house they had stopped outside.  Berwald knocked twice, before opening the door, glaring at the hinges when they squeaked loudly.  Elizabeta followed him inside, to a room full of various furniture pieces surrounding a central fireplace, and noted the four doors , one on each wall.  Unsurprisingly, Berwald sat down on a slightly dusty straight wooden chair, carved in a similar manner as the staff he had left leaning in the doorway.

“Erik, is that you? I thought you’d be gone longer...” A voice echoed through the room as a slender blond man opened the door on the west wall.  He trailed off when he saw Berwald, and shook his head quickly before looking again.  “Berwald. Where have you been?”

Berwald didn’t answer, just shrugged and said, “Door’s sqeak’ng again.”

“Welcome home,” the man said, a wry smile spreading on his face.  “Your mother would be ashamed of your manners.”  

“I’ll fix ‘t lat’r. Need a fav’r.” It was at this point that Berwald gestured to Elizabeta, who was still standing near the doorway, and the other blond did another double take. 

“She needs a way t’ th’ Snow Queen. Fig’r’d y’d know more th’n me.”

The man nodded, and stood perfectly still with a pensive expression on his face for a minute or so, before looking up to meet Elizabeta’s eyes.  “I’ll have to ask Matthias,” he said, presumably to Berwald, who made a disgruntled noise.  “I know. I’m sorry, but I can’t make it that far, even without a passenger.  We’d be trapped for longer than she could survive.”

“Excuse me,” Elizabeta said, after a minute or so of stony silence from Berwald. “Who are you?”

The man bit his lip for a second, before saying, “My apologies.  I’m the West Wind, but you may call me Lukas, if you so desire. My brother Erik should be back in a while, and somewhere in the world, there is a lunatic named Matthias, riding the South Wind.”

“I’m Elizabeta.” She extended a hand to shake his, but he just stared at her until she lowered it again.  “I was told you could help me, but if not...”

Lukas frowned, and waved to cut her off.  “I can help. I can’t take you to the Snow Queen myself, but I may be the only one who can arrange it for you.  Matthias may not be the safest option, but he might just be crazy enough to try it.”

Before Elizabeta could answer, there was a great whooshing sound all around the house, and when it stopped, yet another blond man, this one incredibly and apparently perpetually windblown, burst through the door.  He strode right past Elizabeta to swing an arm around Lukas’ shoulders.  “Miss me, Norge?  I thought I heard my name?”

“Just wond’ring how crazy y’ ’re.” Berwald stood from his chair before Lukas could reply, and the newcomer jumped about a foot in the air.

The two took a minute or so just to stare at each other, before Berwald shrugged and took the pillow from a different chair and sat on it.  This, of course caused an uproar, as apparently the chair he had stolen the pillow from was Matthias’, who she soon figured out was the most recent arrival.  “You put that back!  I’ve had a long day, and I need it!”

“Matthias, calm yourself.  Yes, Berwald is back. That’s not the most pressing issue here.” Lukas pulled Matthias back towards Elizabeta, who it seemed the latter still hadn’t noticed.  “I apologize for his behavior, but this is Matthias.  He’s the South Wind.”

It wasn’t until Lukas addressed her that Matthias even looked in Elizabeta’s direction, and he seemed honestly surprised to see her standing there. “Don’t tell me he actually brought a girl back with him.  I could swear...”

“Sh’ needs our help,” Berwald said rather monotonously, cutting Matthias off before Elizabeta heard what the man would swear to.  “Goin’ North.”

“So naturally, you ask the South Wind.”  Matthias perked up a bit at this, and turned a much more amiable expression towards Elizabeta. “Where are you headed, miss?”

Elizabeta looked around, hoping for any encouragement from the two blank faces of the other winds, before raising an eyebrow.  “How far can you take me?”

“Anywhere but the very top of the world.  And no one wants to go there anyway.”

Lukas rolled his eyes, and Berwald turned what Elizabeta could only assume was a grating laugh into a cough. Elizabeta merely sighed, and turned to Lukas.  “Have you any other ideas?”

“No way,” Matthias said, his eyes widening.  “You… but Snow Queen, she’ll eat you alive.  And spit out an ice sculpture of your heart for his collection.  If you want to fight someone, I’ve got some pirates to play with.  That will be more fun anyway.”

Lukas, meanwhile, had closed his eyes, and appeared to be listening to something that no one else was able to hear. “Calm yourself.  It’s not the fight she wants.”

“But why…”

“Be quiet.  I’m trying to think.”

“But she’ll never…”

“Do I need to gag you?”

“You’re not listening to me…”

“Berwald, do you know where Tino’s hiding these days?” Berwald nodded once, his eyes lighting up a shade or two.  “You’ll need to take her there.  And bring a message for him. Matthias, there’s paper on my desk. Bring me some?”

The taller man groaned melodramatically.  “Norge, I don’t know where anything of yours is.  Why can’t you...”

“Go find me some paper, or so help me I will write this note on your pickled herring,” Lukas said, glaring at the other man.  Matthias promptly scampered off to find paper.  “Sorry about him. Anyway, I’ll write down what Tino needs to know.  It’s not that I don’t trust you, but the words are exact and need to come from one of us, and Berwald is useless with them.”

“I’m not sure I understand.  Why can’t you do it?”

“That’s…It’s complicated.  The North Wind isn’t quite as free as we are.  If I were to call, they would know something was going on.  Tino has been known to make small requests before, so it shouldn’t alert them.  And if they know you’re coming, you’ve lost.”

Elizabeta just nodded, and stood silently as they waited for Matthias to come back.  She hadn't even noticed Berwald getting up until he tapped her shoulder lightly, and handed her a long fur coat, as well as a pair of mittens and a hat.  “It’ll be cold where y’r goin’,” he said.

“Thank you,” was all she could think to reply, but she took the offered items gratefully, sliding a hand into one of the mittens and noticing that it was extremely warm.  “But how can I take these? They must belong to someone?”

Lukas looked over, and shook his head.  “Erik outgrew those a year or two back.  If they fit you, they’re yours.  And he’s right; you will need them.”

It was at that moment that Matthias returned, waving a few sheets of paper over his head.  “I brought you one of Berwald’s charcoal sticks, too,” he explained as he held out what appeared to Elizabeta to be only a short piece of wood, with one burnt end.

“How kind of you.” Lukas took both the charcoal and the paper, and started writing in a slightly cramped but neat script, occasionally stopping to think.  It took a few minutes, but as soon as he finished, Lukas folded up the two pieces of paper he’d written on, and handed them to Elizabeta.  “That should be clear enough, I think.”

After thanking Lukas for his help, Elizabeta allowed Berwald to bundle her up in the furs he’d given her, and said a quick goodbye to both the other Winds before being all but pulled out the door and back onto Berwald’s windrider.  Matthias, followed them to the door, mouth already full of something, to wave at them as they flew away.  
The man swallowed his mouthful as they disappeared, and was just settling into his chair after seeing Elizabeta and Berwald off when a thought struck him.  “I know this story,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else, and he hauled himself back onto his feet and went to grab his coat.

“Where are you going?” Lukas asked from his place by the fire.  “You just got back. You haven’t even sat down properly yet.”

Matthias just grinned ear to ear and replied, “I have to go tell her how this all ends.”

“No. You need to sit down and eat something, and let Elizabeta find her own way.” Matthias waved him off, but Lukas snapped his fingers and something weighed down the other man’s legs.  “It will go wrong if she knows how everything should work.”

“But...”

Lukas just gave a small smile and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I know this story, too.”

A few hours of travel later, Berwald brought Elizabeta to what looked like a small mound of snow with a chimney poking out the top, and as soon as the windrider touched ground, he was on his feet and walking around to knock on what was apparently a door.

If Elizabeta was surprised before, she was shocked to see a head covered with white blond hair poke out of the base of the mound, speak to Berwald for a minute or so, then wave them in.  She couldn’t believe her eyes when Berwald gestured for her to crawl through a small door, and she ended up in a circular room, fully furnished for one person.  Everything inside looked vaguely familiar, even before she realized that Berwald must have made all of it.

“This ‘s Tino,” Berwald said from across the room, where he was sitting with a much smaller man, with the nearly white hair she had seen and startlingly violet eyes.  “He’s ‘n old friend.  “N he c’n help y’.  Knows how t’ call th’ North Wind.”

“Wait, if he knows how, then why did Lukas give me this?” Elizabeta held out the note that she’d been given, and handing it to Tino when he crossed the small room to take it from her.

Elizabeta and Berwald waited as Tino read the letter, and watched his smile grow as he got to the end.  “Lukas always has to make things complicated,” Tino said as he folded the paper back up and tucked it away.  “He lays out a full summons, which would undoubtedly catch the attention of their Majesties in their ice castle.  You don’t want that.”

“But will it work?”

“It would work fine,” Tino said with a grin. “But I have a better way.”

For a moment, she stood there, gaping, before asking, “So the letter was completely unnecessary?”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that.  Lukas also makes a persuasive argument for helping you, though I would have anyway.”  Tino shrugged, and looked over at Berwald for a moment.  “He also sends some interesting recommendations, which I can only assume come from his foresights, though he explicitly says not to tell you, and suggests I feed you before sending you farther north.  There’s a soup on the stove, with good reindeer meat in it, on that note.”

Tino nodded towards his small iron stove, which did indeed have a pot of soup on top of it, and Elizabeta followed Berwald’s lead as he procured bowls for them, then ladled a large portion of the soup out for himself.  Tino handed them each a piece of bread to have with it, and as she ate, Elizabeta could feel the cold leaving her.

After they’d eaten their fill, and more besides in Berwald’s case, as Tino kept refilling his bowl, all three wrapped themselves in their coats and other winter things, and stepped back outside.  “So what is this better idea of yours?” Elizabeta asked Tino curiously.

“Nothing so ritualistic,” he answered, smile still bright on his face, even in the dim grey light.  He stopped just a few paces from his door, and whistled a raucous, wild little tune, every bit as loud as the one Berwald used to call his wind.   As the whistle echoed through the air, Elizabeta heard Berwald let out a low “Hmmph” from behind her, and looked over at Tino again before following his gaze up to the sky.

She saw something there almost immediately, a small speck that gradually got larger as it approached.  Eventually, she could make out the shape of a person on another windrider, standing rather than sitting, and watched them spiral down at an alarming speed before skidding to a stop a few paces away and spraying them with snow.  Tino looked over at her sheepishly as she wiped the snow out of her face, and shook her head to get what she could from her hair.

It wasn’t until a rather lanky young man, one with silvery-white hair and all too familiar red eyes, stepped off the smaller and far less stable-looking windrider that Elizabeta put it all together.  He ran a hand through his hair nervously, and rolled his eyes as he said, “Tino, this really isn’t a great time.  I need to get back in the air, I lost...” 

The moment his eyes caught hers he trailed off into silence, the world froze, and none present so much as breathed until Elizabeta shook her head and simply said, “No.”

“It is the only way,” Tino said from behind her, “Though I don’t envy you the means or the company.”

Gilbert just stood in front of his windrider, completely bewildered.  His eyes flickered back and forth between the three people, before he shook his head and said, in Tino’s general direction, “You just miss it. Was there something you needed the awesome me for?  What can’t the other winds do now?”

“She needs t’get t’ Snow Queen,” Berwald said, gesturing to Elizabeta, who was refusing to even look at him.  “Y’know we don’ go near there.”

“Elizabeta?  To the Snow Queen?” Gilbert asked, and he laughed at the thought until he realized that both Berwald and Tino wore very serious expressions.  “No.  Not unless there’s a damned good reason.”

It was at that point that Elizabeta’s resolve to be angry faltered slightly, and she looked at her good boots, which had taken her this far, before she turned to stare straight at her old friend and said, “She took away the man I was to marry, and I will have him back.”

“You haven’t got half a chance.”

“Doesn’t matter.  I’ll take the smallest bit of a chance if it means bringing him home.” For a moment Gilbert was sure he was eight years old again, for her expression was as determined as it had been then.  “You know I will,” she said, “And you know how foolish it would be to stand in my way.”

“Sorry,” Gilbert said.  “I can’t take you.  And you can ask Tino why.  I’m sure he remembers what happens when their Highnesses are displeased.”

Both Elizabeta and Berwald turned to look at Tino, who winced at Gilbert’s words.  “I’m sorry,” the smaller man said, “I don’t mean to make matters worse.  But it is the only way she can reach the Snow Queen, and she has come so far.”

For a minute, there was silence as Gilbert refused to even respond to the hopeful look on Tino’s face.  It was then that Elizabeta sighed, and picked up the few belongings she had accumulated on her travels, as well as the frying pan she had taken from Tino’s house.  “Don’t bother,” she said.  “I’ll find my own way.”

“You won’t,” Gilbert told her, as he leaned back on his windrider.  “There’s no traveling to her palace except on the wind, and only the North Wind has ever known the way.  You’ll only get lost and freeze to death.”

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow, and saw the panicked looks on both Berwald and Tino’s faces out of the corner of her eyes, and merely shrugged.  “Have you ever known me to just give up?  I won’t let her have Roderich, too.”

A heavy silence settled between Gilbert and Elizabeta, one that none of Tino’s questions could penetrate.  “He’s worth this much?” Gilbert asked, and he found that he could no longer really look her in the eyes.  “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes,” Elizabeta said, “Though if you don’t think so, I would be better off asking the moon for help than you.  I remember that quite clearly.”

“He doesn’t even want you anymore.” The words rang in the cold air, and echoed on the shocked faces of the four who heard them.  Gilbert, as soon as they left him, wanted nothing more than to take them back, and Tino and Berwald merely gaped at him.

Elizabeta winced, but then nodded.  “I know,” she said. “But I can’t just leave him. I won’t.” With that, she turned on her heel, and, with her pack and the frying pan, started walking north through the snow, wind in her face and ice in her hair.

Many miserable hours later, she approached a wall of solid ice, through which she could see the distorted shape of a palace. Elizabeta’s gaze followed it up until it disappeared into the cold haze, then she let out a breath and leaned forward to let her forehead rest against the wall.

“I did tell you,” Gilbert said from behind her, and he grinned cheekily when she whirled around to stare at him. “But you never listen to me.”

Elizabeta drew in a deep breath, held it for a second, then turned back to the wall.  “Why now?” She murmured. “Why?”

There was a stretch of time during which both Gilbert and Elizabeta stayed still and silent, until he took another few steps forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  “You’re cold,” Elizabeta told him softly.

At the same time, Gilbert had realized just how warm she was.  “I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled her close.  “I shouldn’t have...”

“No. But you were right.” Elizabeta let herself sag into his side for a moment, still staring through the ice.  “I knew it, too, every step of the way. But if I let him go, then who next?”

Gilbert had no answer, so he said nothing, just ran a hand through her hair.  

“Where are your flowers?” he asked, a minute later.

“Hmm?”

“You used to wear flowers in your hair.” He twirled a piece of her hair around his finger, staring at it as he spoke.  “Why don’t you anymore?”

At this, Elizabeta let a snort of laughter escape her. “You remember that? I haven’t since... well, since you left.” Gilbert blinked rapidly, then frowned as Elizabeta pulled away from him, cheeks turning slightly pink. “Gil, what are you doing?  How... What happened to you?”

“Another time,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.  “For now, you need to save your prissy little prince Roddy.  He’s being an idiot, giving you up. Let’s go tell him so.”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to his windrider, and demanded that she get on, even though it was iced over and barely big enough for one person.  For a second, Elizabeta just looked at him skeptically, but after one glance over her shoulder at the wall and the palace beyond, she climbed on, and he squeezed onto the back, behind her.

“You’ll like this,” he whispered into her ear, and she could hear his smirk in his voice. 

“I have ridden the wind before,” she replied, raising an eyebrow, and she felt him shake with barely contained laughter.

“Not the north wind. I have the tricky one.” Gilbert whistled the same call that had summoned him, and yanked on one of the handles in front of Elizabeta, before fiddling with at least five other knobs and levers, brushing ice shavings off them.  “Also, Berwald may have built it, but I made some...improvements to the windrider.”

The speed with which Gilbert’s windrider shot into the air was frightening and awe-inspiring at the same, and his gleeful shout echoed off the wall and the snow-covered ground. He let it skate up the wall for a while, before pulling a few sharp banked turns, and even flipping them upside-down for a moment.    
Elizabeta didn’t realize she was grinning until she heard a whoop tear its way out of her throat, and by the time they soared over the wall, she was laughing breathlessly along with Gilbert. The pair flew down over the last few miles to the palace, before Gilbert landed them around the corner from the doorway.

“This is as far as I can take you,” he said, climbing off the rider to let her slide to her feet.  “If I’m seen helping you, things may not go well for me.  Especially since you’re going to win.”

He pulled himself back onto the windrider, and then turned to see Elizabeta’s skeptical face.  “What happened to ‘You don’t have half a chance’?” she asked, shuffling her feet a little.

“I just… I really want you to win.”

As Gilbert was about to whistle for his wind again, Elizabeta reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Wait. In case I don’t see you again, I wanted to ask now. Why did you go?”

“Go where?” Gilbert tilted his head to the side, but Elizabeta just gestured to the rider, and then the palace next to them. “Oh, that. She promised you’d get home safely.  You would have died.  What else was I supposed to do?”  A moment later, Gilbert took off, leaving Elizabeta staring blankly at the space where he had been.


	7. Of the Snow Queen’s Palace and What Happened There

Gilbert had left Elizabeta only a short distance from the door to the palace, and she walked to it easily enough, only to be stopped by two figures, guards made entirely of ice.

“None shall enter here except by order of their Majesties,” the first said, as the second grabbed her shoulder, leaving a handprint in frost there after turning her towards him.  “You must leave now, stranger.”

Elizabeta hissed at the intense cold in her shoulder, which had cut through the coat and down to her very bones, but looked straight into the white eyes of the first guard and said, “I have business with the Snow Queen, and will not leave until it is complete.”

“You may not go in,” the first guard replied, still expressionless.

They stood before her, not moving except to speak, and Elizabeta stared back at them. “Your Queen has stolen something of mine,” she explained, slowly and deliberately so as to keep any anxiety out of her voice.  “I wish only to retrieve it.”

“You will fail.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged her shoulders, hand still on the handle of the frying pan. “Perhaps not.”

The guards looked her up and down once more, and shook their heads.  Their grating voices chorused, “We will not let you enter.”

“And yet I must go in.” There was a moment of silence, in which Elizabeta stared down the two ice-men, before she gripped the handle of Tino’s pan in both hands, and swung it with all her might against the chest of one of the first guard.  She hit him with the side, rather than the flat, and he flew backwards, dented and crackling.

The other guard watched the exchange silently, and met her gaze when she turned on him, still shaking his head.  This time, she swung at his neck, and shattered his hand into pieces when he held it up in defense. With a few more swings, she had the second guard on the ground, neck chipped and cracked dangerously, only to see the first again, on his feet and accompanied by a third.

They ran at her together, and while she managed to break one of the knees on the new guard, the first grabbed her other wrist, at the point where her coat sleeve met the end of her mitten.  The cold sunk in faster there, and Elizabeta cried out in pain. She escaped the grasp only a few moments later, by breaking the guards arm, and brushing away the pieces, but her arm was already numb nearly to her elbow.  Another swing, which landed near the dent from the first one, sent him to the ground, crackling loudly again. 

Elizabeta took a moment to catch her breath, grip her wrist in the other mitten.  Her hand was going numb alarmingly quickly, and pins and needles were still racing up and down her arm. When her grip did nothing to warm the wrist, she hugged the whole arm to her, hoping to surround it with her coat and so let it recover.  In this way, Elizabeta walked though the now unguarded doors of the Snow Queen’s Palace, which stood on the frozen sea.

For a long while, she walked though empty corridors so silent that the sounds of her breathing echoed off the walls and in her ears.  Everything was white, as the walls and floor were made of ice and snow, but without the light from even the dim sun outside, it seemed dark.  Elizabeta wandered aimlessly for a long stretch of time, though she could not say exactly how long, seeing only the same white walls around her, until she came to the very center of the Palace.

The center was one room, and here the floor turned from white snow to pure clear ice, which reflected as well as any mirror.  Through the floor, and through her own reflection, Elizabeta saw shoals of fish swimming, and a large seal chasing them.  The water was an eerie blue-green, and the whole room was cast faintly in that color as well.

On a raised dais across the room, were three thrones, though the one on the right was empty.  On the left hand side sat the Snow Queen, all in white, and just how Elizabeta remembered her from that one night in the forest.  

Beside her, on the center throne, was a man.  He was tall, broad in the shoulders, and just as pale as the Snow Queen, with eyes an unsettling purple in an otherwise childishly friendly face. Instead of the white furs the Queen preferred, he wore a wool coat, surprisingly undecorated, and a circlet of what appeared to be pure ice about his forehead.

Elizabeta, of course, barely noticed them, for also across the icy hall was Roderich, sitting at a crystal clear piano just to the right of the dais.  He was playing something incredibly virtuosic, with all the feeling of an icicle, and it sent a chill through her to hear it.  But after a moment to steady herself, she started towards him, calling his name.

He didn’t turn, or even look up from the keys of the piano.  As she approached, she saw the slightly pink tinge the keys had taken, and winced, but did not stop until she was just behind him.  Elizabeta stopped then, and took a deep breath before placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Roderich, it’s me. Elizabeta.” He turned, and his expression was completely blank as he looked up at her. “Don’t you remember me?”

The man blinked, and said the name a few times.  “Elizabeta? Elizabeta. I knew someone by that name once.”

“That was me.” She sat down on the piano bench, and took one of his hands in hers. “We were to be married.”

“Were we?” Roderich seemed puzzled for a moment, and peered at her for a long moment before the memory dawned on him. “Oh, yes. I remember now. Hmmm, right. Well, there’s no reason to anymore.”

Silence stretched between them as Elizabeta stared in horror.  “I love you,” she said, in a trembling voice. “Is that not a reason?”

“Not when its a lie.”

“Roderich! How can you say such—”

“Can you deny it?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words died on her tongue.  A moment later, she swallowed and asked, “Why propose in the first place, then?”

“It was expected.  Easy.” Roderich shrugged, but Elizabeta shook her head at him.  “I needed someone who was as good at pretending as I was. You were even better.” He watched Elizabeta with a vaguely curious expression as she fought to hold back tears.  “It would be acceptable for you to cry now. You came all this way for nothing.”

“No. I didn’t.  I won’t.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked back at him.  “It wouldn’t do me any good, and tears would just freeze on my face.”  
Roderich nodded once in response, though his expression was troubled, and said, “That is true.” 

The two of them sat at the piano together in a static silence, before Roderich blinked and cleared his throat. “I should introduce you to our hosts.  It was the Snow Queen herself who brought me here, and her sister who made the piano for me.”

“We’ve met, Roderich,” the Snow Queen called from her throne, smiling a little at Elizabeta.  “I’m sure you remember.”  Elizabeta simply nodded.  “Shall we skip the formalities then?  You must have realized by now that your journey is at an end.  Roderich is content here, more than he was with you.  Let him remain here, as he wishes, if you have any love for him at all.”

Elizabeta took a few moments to watch Roderich, who was staring, apparently awestruck, at the Snow Queen on her throne, before nodding once.  “Let me have a little time with him to say goodbye then, if I am never to see him again.”

This the Snow Queen could not reasonably deny her, but she watched Roderich turn back to the piano and begin to play again, picking up from where she had stopped him before, and smiled.

As Roderich played, Elizabeta sat next to him and watched his fingers dance over the keys.  They bled a little after he held chords, when his skin would freeze to the keys and be ripped away, but Roderich never seemed to notice.  He just stared at the wall behind the piano, his expression serene yet focused, and ignored Elizabeta completely.

Once he’d finished, Roderich sat silently for a moment, staring at the keys. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured, his brow furrowing.  “Why is it wrong?”

“Roderich?”

“It was perfect. Every note was perfect.” An almost childish confusion spread over his face. “So how can it have been wrong?”

“May I try?” She asked, gesturing to the piano. “You taught me to play one of the songs I knew.  I think I still remember how.”

Roderich shrugged his shoulders and shifted over on the bench, giving her more room and access to the middle range of the keyboard.  The only song Elizabeta knew was the lullaby her grandmother had sung to her as a child, set to the simple harmonies Roderich had arranged for her, but she had played it many times on his piano after he disappeared, in his memory.  Roderich seemed to recognize it, and looked at her with the same confused expression.

After playing the melody once, haltingly, on the icy keys, Elizabeta sang the lullaby while accompanying herself.  She made more mistakes this time, as her fingers started to freeze to the keys, and her throat was raw with disappointment and failure.  The words of the song, about spring coming to a mountain, seemed meaningless and hollow in such a desolate hall, and Elizabeta found herself nearly ready to give up and slink away into a cold corner, never to move again.

It was then that Roderich’s cold hands covered hers, taking over the piano part. Her singing faltered, but he slowed with her, and nodded for her to continue.  They went through the whole lullaby again, and again with Elizabeta improvising a second verse. The ghost of a memory pulled at her mind, but it was fleeting, and gone by the time she looked back at Roderich.  His eyes were warmer now, curious as he looked down at the keys and expanded her clumsy chord progressions into counter melodies and trilling ornaments.

Elizabeta sang along to one more repetition, then fell silent as Roderich closed his eyes, and meandered through a number of variations, finally settling on a rich and grand hymn-style arrangement.  As he came to the closing cadence, he turned his closed eyes to the ceiling, and smiled as if he could see the clear sky and feel the sun on his face.

As the last chord rang through the room, the piano cracked right down the middle, and fell to the floor, shattering into thousands of pieces as it hit the more solid ice.  A single tear rolled down Roderich’s cheek, and though he turned away so that she wouldn’t see, Elizabeta gently pulled his face back towards her, and wiped the drop of water away with a smile.  “Don’t cry, Roderich.  It will freeze on your face.”  

He nodded, and shivered, but stood and walked over to the Snow Queen’s throne.  “Your Majesties,” he began, “You said when I arrived that you would not keep me against my will.  If you will indeed stand by that, I think it time that I go home.”

The Snow Queen glared at Elizabeta over Roderich’s shoulder, but said nothing, only nodded. Roderich bowed low to her and to the man seated next to her, and turned on his heel.  Now freed from the spell that had been on him, his lips were turning blue, but he smiled, and there was a light in his eyes again.  Elizabeta felt a weight lift from her heart.

After wrapping the man in the coat she had borrowed from Berwald, though, Elizabeta hesitated, even as Roderich started towards the door.  “Wait,” she called to him,

“I’m not finished here.” Her words echoed through the room, and out into the empty halls, as she turned back to the Snow Queen again.

“You have what you came for, do you not?” the Queen asked her.  “What keeps you?”

“There is something else you took from me, so long ago that I had almost forgotten. It is yet dear to me, and I would have it back.”

“This is what happens, sister,” the man said, a strange twinkle in his eye. “You give into the demands of the small and they think they are not so small anymore.  You put too much faith in your tricks and too little in her.”

Snow Queen sat, staring at Elizabeta intently for long enough that the girl thought she may have frozen in her place.  “What more would you have from me, little flower?”

“My oldest friend, to whom I owe my life,” Elizabeta replied, trying desperately to keep the shivers out of her voice.  “Prove to me he has everything he desires here, and I shall leave without another word. If not, I shall bring him home to his family.”

Gilbert had been sitting on his own chair of ice behind the Snow Queen’s, and had not been paying much attention until that moment.  After all, he had little interest in Roderich and his fate, and no desire to risk his Queen’s anger.  He had been listening, though, and his head snapped up so that he could look straight into Elizabeta’s eyes, and he saw neither lies nor fear there.

The Snow Queen laughed lightly to herself, as she sized up the young woman before her.  She had melted her Roderich’s heart, it was true, but what chance did such a small girl have against her magic?  “Very well,” the Snow Queen said, nodding to Elizabeta before asking,  “North Wind, is there anything you desire that you do not already have?”

“There is.  I’d like some pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” The Snow Queen turned to stare at Gilbert, who was lounging in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk.  “Is that all?”

“Your Highness,” he drawled, without even looking at her, “Everyone knows that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“You haven’t got a heart,” she told him, her voice suddenly cold.

Gilbert turned to her, the sparkle of mischief back in his eyes after many years, and said, “But I do have a stomach.”

“So you do,” the Snow Queen conceded.  She sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do but go through with the challenge, and nodded once.  “Pancakes it is.”   
As soon as the Snow Queen turned back around, Gilbert winked conspicuously at Elizabeta, who rolled her eyes and then said to the Snow Queen, “If he takes this opportunity to ask for something as simple as a plate of pancakes, then you clearly are not giving him everything he needs.”

“He has never asked before.” The Snow Queen stood and shot a look at the taller man behind her.  “And he has grown so tall that you cannot possibly be insinuating that I do not feed him.”

Elizabeta shrugged her shoulders, and let the topic drop. “I assume, then, that you have a kitchen that I may use?”

The Snow Queen nodded graciously, but the pale man in the other throne, who had been observing silently with a strange smile on his face, spoke up.  “The General will not be pleased to hear of one failure.  If another gets away, he will be merciless.”

“It was your failure before, brother, not mine.” She turned to smile at Elizabeta. “I will play her game, and the little flower will take what she earns.”

And so Elizabeta was shown to a small stone room, where she found a man and a boy talking quietly.  When she entered, they looked up in terror, but relaxed immediately when they did not recognize her.  “Who are you?” the man asked.  He shooed the boy towards another door with a quick, “Find Eduard. Quickly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, regarding the man curiously.  “I simply need a stove and a few ingredients.  Have you any eggs?”

He blinked, then pointed to a pantry to his left. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing a…er, friend.” The man raised an eyebrow, and Elizabeta realized just how unlikely that must seem to him.  “It’s a bit of a story, but I don’t really have the time to tell it.  Right now, I need to make pancakes.”

The extra explanation did not seem to help.  “Pancakes?” he asked, his eyebrows rising high enough to disappear into his hair.  His voice was steady though, and he watched her root around what she assumed was his kitchen more curiously than nervously now. 

“Yes,” She replied as she measured out flour. “Pancakes. Who are you?”

“Toris. I work here.”  He watched her work with a stunned blankness, occasionally pointing when she asked for different ingredients. “Will they be angry?”

“I am trying to take the North Wind, I guess. They seemed more frightened than angry, but...” She trailed off as he stared at her.  

“And how do you know the North Wind?”

“Again, it’s a long story. Is there sugar?”  Toris pointed again, and she found the surprisingly large container easily.  As she mixed, she found herself recounting her childhood with Gilbert, fuzzy as her memories were, and how he had disappeared.  She described her journey to find Roderich as concisely as possible, but it took longer that she’d expected.  When she finished, Toris was still standing in the same spot, jaw hanging slack.

“What’s wrong?”

The man shook his head quickly, then smiled.  “Nothing.  I’m just a little surprised.  Not many people would come this far for anyone, let alone risk what they’ve already won.”

“That’s fair, I suppose.  But what I’ve already won wasn’t exactly what I expected it to be.”

“Also, you’ve challenged the Snow Queen in cooking.”

“Well, at least it’s not laundry.  I hate laundry.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s not about pancakes specifically.  I need to show her that I can give him something she can’t, and then I can take him home. He could have asked for any number of things.”

“So why pancakes?”

For a moment, Elizabeta was silent as she flipped a pancake in the skillet, but after a few moments of thought she was forced to admit, “I don’t know.”

Toris didn’t pry further, and let her cook the rest of the batter into a small pile of pancakes.  She placed them on a rough wooden plate, and brought them out still hot, with jam and butter  and sugar on top the way her grandmother had always served them.

The Snow Queen looked over at Elizabeta’s still steaming pile disdainfully, and waved a hand over the small table that was now next to her.  In a flurry of white, another plate appeared, covered in perfectly circular pancakes of just the right color, dusted with powdered sugar and arranged prettily enough that the plate could have been called art.

Gilbert was lounging in his chair again when the plates were presented to him, and he took a few bites of each, keeping his face as blank as possible.  After a moment of this, he sighed, smiled a tiny smile and grabbed Elizabeta’s plate, attacking what was left on it.

“Have you chosen, then?” The Snow Queen asked, her tone bordering on disgusted.

Swallowing a particularly large mouthful, Gilbert nodded, and took a second before saying, “I have never been, and will never be anything but honest with you, Majesty. 

Elizabeta’s are pancakes, and yours are nothing but snow and cold air.”

There was a moment of silence, in which the Snow Queen glared at Elizabeta so ferociously that anyone less courageous might have fled, even in their victory.  This moment was broken only by the man to the queen’s left, the king, who said, “You may speak the truth, North Wind, but I think you will change your mind.”

“And why should I?”

“Because you will remember, in a moment, why you are here.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened, as he looked between the king and Elizabeta. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.” The king smiled from his throne. “If you do not keep to your agreement, why should we?”

“That deal was with her, not you.”

The Snow Queen just looked to her king, and shrugged her shoulders indifferently.  He raised an eyebrow and continued.  “It would have been me, not her, who killed the girl.”

“She’s not so small anymore,” Gilbert said, now a bit more wary. “She will be better able to withstand your cold.”

“I would not be so certain.” The king turned to Elizabeta next, and the gleam of victory was in his eye already.  “Did you think you were cold before? Outside when the ice touched you?  Did you feel a chill when you entered my palace?”

Elizabeta didn’t answer, but her hand gripped her wrist automatically, and she could feel even more acutely how it burned and ached. The king simply nodded, his smile growing just barely wider.  He could kill her where she stood if he wanted to, with nothing more than his eyes, and now they both knew. One look at Gilbert told Elizabeta that he knew it too.

And Gilbert was afraid.  

She could see it in his face, in his wide eyes and tight line of a mouth. She should see it in his raised shoulders, in his shifting feet, and in the slight trembling of his hands.  He was afraid for her, and he knew the powers of the king better than she.  It was in that moment that Elizabeta realized she had never seen him afraid before.

“Come now, North Wind,” the king said.  “My sister and I went along with your little game.  Play mine with me.”

“I’ve had quite enough of games for today.”

“I won’t ask again.”  The king’s grin stayed fixed in place, but his eyes glinted icy cold in Elizabeta’s direction.  “Play with me.”

Gilbert just shook his head, as an idea came to him. A long shot, but worth the try.  “I can’t just do what you want all the time anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I owe her my allegiance too.” Gilbert gestured behind him at Elizabeta, who was starting to shiver violently.  “I owe her my loyalty, and my obedience.  Everything I owe your sister.  She’s also won me in a fair bargain.”

“I fail to see why this is relevant.”

“I can’t do what you want because it’s in direct contrast with what she wants.  But I also can’t do what she wants because it’s in direct contrast with what you want.” The king turned a quizzical gaze on him, but Gilbert merely shrugged his shoulders and continued.  “This is why I dislike having to deal with other people.  It always becomes so complicated.”

“Make your point soon, North Wind, or it will cease to matter.”

For a moment, the fear he’d felt before blossomed back up in the pit of his stomach, but Gilbert squashed it back down, just barely managing to not look back at Elizabeta. “I’m getting there. The point is that I can’t do what either of you tells me.  Therefore, I have to do what I, as a now somewhat impartial party, feel is right.”

“You are not impartial, my friend.”

“No, but I have such conflicting responsibilities that I may as well have no ties to either you or her.  I have to chose anyway.”

“Alright, I will indulge you.  What do you think you should do now?”

“Threaten you.” There was a moment’s pause, in which the king seemed to stumble over a reply.  That moment stretched longer as every person in the room realized they had no idea what to say.  Gilbert shrugged once more, and whistled for the North Wind, which stirred slowly throughout the hall.  Small whirlwinds, turned white by the snow they kicked up, danced lazily around him for a moment before growing and combining into an ever widening cyclone.

“Ivan, if you do not let us leave, I will bring down this palace on your head.”

“It would come down on yours too. And on the little girl’s.”

“You underestimate me.” Gilbert grinned a little, and the wind picked up, groaning eerily through the hall and tearing more snow free of the walls. “You think I haven’t sat in this room planning exactly how I would tear your palace apart? Of course I have.”

“I had thought we were better friends than that.”

At this, Gilbert just laughed, and the wind blew even faster, until Elizabeta’s hair was snapping behind her and the hall was echoing with its wails.  The walls were shaking now, ever so slightly, and when small puffs of snow started flying off of them, the Snow Queen reached over to grip her brother’s arm.  Neither Gilbert nor Elizabeta could hear her words, but she was clearly panicking.

Elizabeta was struggling to keep her feet before long.  Roderich had fallen to his knees by the doorway, she saw, and was curled up as tight as he could in the coat she had given him.   But even he, only a few paces away was fading into the white of the storm.  She could see no one else, though she thought she heard the Snow Queen’s shrill cries mingling with the wind.

Then there, suddenly, was Gilbert before her, reaching out a hand to pull her into the calm around him.  He stood at the very eye of the storm and the wind was merely ruffling his hair.  “Come on, Lizzie,” he said, and somehow she heard him over the howling, “Come with me, and let’s be gone from here.”

She took the hand, stepped into his embrace, and they walked together to retrieve Roderich, then out the door of the great room, which collapsed behind them.


	8. Of What Happened After

It seemed to Elizabeta that leaving the ice palace took much less time than entering it, though they walked no faster than she had on her way in.  They walked side by side by side, Gilbert’s arm around her shoulders, Roderich’s hand in hers, pulling each other along throughout he harsh white halls.

When they finally reached the doors, the sunlight was blindingly bright on the snow, and all three had to cover their eyes until the pain ebbed away.  Gilbert was the worst off, and Elizabeta could feel his grip on her tighten, and hear him try not to cry out.  A few moments later, he was able to squint at the world around him, but not before Elizabeta was sincerely worried.

He waved away her concerns, though, and led them to a small alcove around the corner, where he had left his windrider. Elizabeta had to pull Roderich along behind her, for he seemed to have no will to go anywhere even then, and she and Gilbert sat him down awkwardly on the seat of the windrider, behind Gilbert.  Elizabeta then gripped his shoulders tightly, and stood on the rails, hoping she would be able to hold on.

She needn’t have worried, though.  Gilbert called the North Wind to carry them homewards, but with three people, the windrider would not leave the ground more than a few feet.  They sledged towards the ice wall in silence, just a few inches off the snow, and watched it grow taller and taller.  As they approached the barrier, Elizabeta risked letting go with one hand to tap Gilbert on the shoulder, and gave him a questioning look over Roderich’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out,” he mouthed back at her, then he turned around, keeping them firmly on course.  Before long, they were nearing the base of the wall, and Elizabeta noticed a dark shape against all the white.

There, standing just in front of the wall, was a woman, wrapped in a blue coat.  Her back was turned, so they could not see her face, but the short white-blonde hair was familiar to all of them.  Elizabeta gasped, one hand reaching for the frying pan she had left in the ice palace, but Gilbert grinned and pushed them faster towards the wall.

“Milady!” he called, ignoring Elizabeta as she frantically hissed at him to be quiet.  The woman turned, and her head tilted slightly to one side, her confusion becoming increasingly evident as they approached her. She flinched a little when Gilbert stopped the windrider close enough to spray her with snow, but otherwise didn’t move at all.  

Then she smiled a little at the three of them, and Gilbert let out the laugh he’d beed holding in. “Was there something you wanted, Gilbert?” she asked, in the same indulgent tone Elizabeta’s grandmother had taken with him.

“Actually,” he drawled out, looking up at the ice wall, “I’m a little grounded right now.  I could take both of these two up and over, but if you don’t mind…”

The woman pressed her lips together, looking away from the three of them for a moment, then turned around to face the wall.  “Ivan will be angry,” she muttered, and Elizabeta felt rather than saw both Gilbert and Roderich wince.  Despite her reluctance, though, the blonde woman ran a hand over the ice wall in a tall arc, and the ice inside the line she had traced melted shockingly quickly.  “Go now,” she said, giving Gilbert one last, slightly less kind glance.  “Thank me by never seeing me again.”

“Of course, Milady,” Gilbert replied, starting the windrider slowly towards the ice tunnel she had created.  “I am sorry, and wish you the best and happiest of fortune.”

Not another word was spoken, and the ice wall sealed itself behind them.  Gilbert sighed, but kept them moving at a steady pace, due south away from the sun.  For all the hours it had taken her to walk to the wall, Elizabeta expected it to be miles to Tino’s home.  It took only half an hour by windrider, and Tino was outside waiting for them in the snow. 

“I heard something on the wind,” he said as they clambered off.  “Berwald didn’t believe me, but I knew you would be coming.  Come in, it’s late.”

Elizabeta blinked, and looked back at the sun, still hovering above the horizon.  “It is?” she asked, and Tino nodded as he ushered the three of them into his house.  
“It’s summer, Elizabeta,” he said, the words ringing with something more than the simple fact.  “The sun won’t set tonight, or for a few more nights to come.  But we must still sleep.”

Berwald was sleeping already as they entered the house, taking up most of the only bed in the single room.  With a bit of help from Gilbert and Elizabeta, Tino cleared a large space on the floor, and spread a number of spare quilts and blankets out for his guests.  Roderich was tutted over, proclaimed to be hypothermic and in shock, and bundled over to lie down next to the fire.  Gilbert and Elizabeta watched Tino add another log or two to the blaze before crawling back into the small space Berwald had left him, then pulled the blankets around themselves.

* * *

Gilbert woke the next morning to the smell of porridge, and forced his eyes open.  Tino was still snoring in the bed, but Berwald was at the fire, stirring a pot and watching a still sleeping Roderich with a slightly concerned expression.  He was about to ask if there was food available, as all he’d eaten in the last two days was a plate of pancakes, when Elizabeta curled up closer to him.

In the next few moments, Gilbert realized three things: he couldn’t feel his right arm, he was warmer than he had been in years, and Elizabeta was much closer to him that she had been.  He looked down to see her head pillowed at the juncture of his arm and shoulder, explaining the numbness, and his other arm tossed over the quilt she was wrapped in, hand lost in her hair.

He was slowly trying to disentangle himself when Berwald’s voice startled him. “Sleep well?” was all he asked, but when Gilbert looked up, the other man was staring back with one eyebrow raised, expression either disapproving, curious, amused, or all three at once.

“Better than I have in a long time,” he answered, and Berwald grunted.  There wasn’t really any more to say on the topic, so he balled up one of his blankets to put under Elizabeta’s head to replace his shoulder, and joined Berwald in the breakfast making.

As the others gradually woke, food was distributed to all in relative silence, punctuated only by a few grumbled “good morning”s. The porridge was hot and filling, and buttered bread and cold meat were a banquet compared to the table in the Snow Palace.  Gilbert and Elizabeta dug in with enthusiasm, and Roderich, once he tasted hot food, managed almost three full bowls in a surprisingly short time.  Tino chuckled to himself as he handed over his own bowl, saying he would be able to eat more later anyway, and his guests needed it more.  Berwald said nothing, discretely made another smaller pot of porridge while they were distracted.

After breakfast, Gilbert tried to give his pendant back to Tino without making a scene, but Tino just stared at it for a few minutes, eyes wide.  “Really?” he asked, reaching out tentatively.  By this time, everyone else in the house was watching.  “You mean it?”

“Of course.  It’s yours.  I’m ready to go home.” Gilbert dropped the pendant into his outstretched hand, sighing in irritation.  “Just don’t go north.  I just broke that deal, so don’t go back.  You deserve the independence.”

Tino looked about to burst into tears, so Gilbert, uncomfortable with tears, looked over at anyone and everyone else. Berwald’s eyes might have been a bit shinier than normal behind his spectacles, and Elizabeta was smiling at the scene.  Even Roderich, who had no idea what was going on, looked on approvingly from his place by the fire.

“We’ll take you as far south as we can,” Tino said, looking over at Berwald for confirmation.  The bigger man nodded once as he cleared the dishes from the room.   “It may not be all the way home, but we can at least find somewhere that it feels like summer.”

Gilbert nodded his own thanks, and watched Tino bring Elizabeta over to his kitchen, not really sure how to help until Berwald tapped his shoulder and led him outside. 

As the others packed inside, Gilbert and Berwald hunched over the windriders,  making adjustments and thawing frozen parts with stones that Berwald had warmed in the fire.  Berwald’s, in particular, had been all but buried in snow.  By the time they declared both windriders ready to go, Elizabeta, Roderich and Tino were standing outside waiting, all with packs over their shoulders.

When it was decided that Elizabeta and Roderich would fit better on Berwald’s much larger seat, even with him, Gilbert was oddly relieved.  He watched them all squeeze on, saw Roderich’s intensely uncomfortable face, and grinned over from the back of Tino’s windrider.  Once moving, Tino and Gilbert were able to fly circles around the others, and for a long time, the two of them simply enjoyed the flight.

Eventually, though, Gilbert started to hear the north wind whispering in Tino’s ear, about stretches of tundra and rainstorms and breaking the heat of summer.  Tino ignored it for a while, but as soon as Gilbert saw a road below them, he pointed it out. “Let us off there,” he said.

Tino and Berwald landed as gently as they could manage, and pointed the three travelers southward down the road.  Goodbyes were said, hugs given, and well-wishes bestowed, before the North and the East Winds flew off again.

Gilbert, Elizabeta and Roderich ate a little of the packed food, then started on their way again.  It was a few days of solid walking before they came upon anything other than empty forest, and a few more times that Gilbert woke up wrapped around Elizabeta.  He never mentioned it, and kept his distance during the days, but smiled just a bit wider every time.

* * *

Four days after they had started walking, they met a traveler on the road.  At first, as he approached, they thought he was riding a white horse.  As they got closer, it became clear that the stranger was, in fact, riding on a white bear.

Roderich argued that they clear off the road and give him as much space as they could, but Elizabeta was curious and Gilbert would not admit to any fear, and so they simply kept walking, Roderich on the grass next to the road and about three paces behind Gilbert and Elizabeta.  The bear moved faster than they wold have thought, and the stranger came upon them quickly.

Elizabeta recognized Matthew only moments before he called out, “Hello there!” to her, and ran forward to greet him, no longer at all concerned about the bear.

“What are you doing so far from home?” she asked him, watching him climb down easily from the bear’s back, and reach to scratch behind one of its ears.  “Doesn’t Francis need you?”

Matthew scoffed and shook his head.  “Francis left the city almost a week ago.  He’s living with a group of bandits now, so I hear.  And with Alfred and Arthur off traveling…” he trailed off, gesturing to the surrounding forest.

“And the bear?” Gilbert asked from behind Elizabeta, as he approached more warily. “Were there no horses to be had?”

The bear groaned, looking to Matthew as if it could understand.  “Oh! This is Kumajiro.  He was a bit lost, so I’m taking him home.”

Roderich remained stubbornly on the other side of the road, and Gilbert watched the bear with nervous eyes, but Elizabeta walked over to scratch behind the other ear, and to ask where Alfred and the prince had gone.  “Alfred is showing Arthur the kingdom,” Matthew said. “They went to see what most needs attention, and probably won’t be back for some weeks.

“You’re going home now, though.” It was a statement rather than a question, and he nodded towards her companions.  “You found what you were looking for?”  
Elizabeta nodded, and said, “And more besides.  Thank you for your help.”

“I was happy to give it, and am glad to see you successful.  The others will be glad as well, when they hear.” Matthew climbed back onto his bear, and leaned forward to whisper in its ear.  “Good luck to you,” he said to Elizabeta, “and travel safely.”

“You as well, Matthew,” she replied, and off he went, the bear loping along with incredibly long strides.  Only minutes later, he was gone, and the three started off again.  
A few days later, Elizabeta awoke to see a golden apple on the ground next to her, with a note that simply read, ‘Say hello to my brother, _principessa_ ’.  She smiled, and put the apple in her now significantly lighter pack, and blew a kiss into the trees.  “Thank you,” she said, smiling broadly, “I will.”

* * *

They passed through the stone city in a few hours, stopping only to buy enough food to take them home.  All three had considered staying the night, especially Roderich, but all were eager to be home, and didn’t want to give up nearly half a day of travel time.

A few days later, they were passing the house by the river and its large garden.  Gilbert and Roderich were both eager to press on, feeling that they were nearly home, but Elizabeta insisted that they stop and visit.  She ran up to the doorstep with a wide grin, and knocked on the door.

Feliciano answered, and pulled Elizabeta into a tight embrace, kissing her cheeks and waving to Gilbert and Roderich, and talking more quickly even than Elizabeta remembered.  “It’s alright, he’s a friend,” she called to her companions.

Roderich came in as soon as he was invited, and took a seat in the main room, but Gilbert stayed in the doorway for a long while, clearly uncomfortable. Feliciano ran into the kitchen to make pasta, and Elizabeta said she wanted to see the garden, so he was left more or less alone.

It was at that moment, while everyone else was occupied, that Ludwig appeared from another room, confused by the sudden explosion of noise.  He and Gilbert saw each other at the same moment, and stared, frozen and silent, for a long minute. Neither could move, as shocked as they were, until Elizabeta came back inside and the sound of the door shattered the moment.

“Ludwig?” Gilbert asked, a smile slowly growing on his face. “Is it really you?”

Ludwig nodded stiffly, his mouth opening and closing as if to speak, though no words came out.  Elizabeta and Feliciano came looking for them a moment later, and found Gilbert throwing his arms around his brother, grinning ear to ear. Ludwig squeezed him back hard enough that they could hear Gilbert’s back pop, and the smaller brother was lifted off the floor with a shout of surprise.  Roderich came to investigate, raised an eyebrow, and went back to his chair.

The pair of brothers talked for hours. Elizabeta and Feliciano left them alone after dinner, and showed Roderich the paintings and the garden, then set up rooms for all three of them.  Roderich and Feliciano went to bed at reasonable hours, but Elizabeta sat on her bed listening to Gilbert and Ludwig trading stories long into the night.  
Feliciano made too much food for breakfast the next morning, especially when they considered the left over pasta he heated up along with it, and sent them off with an invitation to return whenever they pleased.  Gilbert pulled Ludwig into another tight hug, and promised he’d be back frequently, especially if they promised to feed him. 

As they said goodbye, Ludwig whispered an emphatic “Thank you” to Elizabeta, and she winked back at him.

* * *

They were received into their town with surprise and awe, while word was sent as quickly as possible to the doctor and to Elizabeta’s family.  The doctor was the first to approach them, looking at his son with hopeful, questioning eyes.  Gilbert hung back as Roderich ran to embrace his father, and his mother who was not far behind, propriety be damned. 

Elizabeta greeted them kindly as well, putting off any storytelling with a few gentle requests to gather her family, to eat, and to rest first.  She introduced Gilbert to them, and was surprised to realize just how much she had told them about him. From the looks he kept giving her, he was as well.

When Elizabeta finally returned to her family’s home, she found her father and grandmother there, waiting for her.  Both remembered Gilbert, and welcomed both him and Roderich back, before the elderly woman whisked Elizabeta away, saying, “We need pancakes for this!”

Elizabeta slept in her own bed that night, and woke well-rested, if a bit cool.  Autumn was coming already, she could feel it, and the cold would be back.  There was no escaping it.

She had dinner with Roderich and his family the next evening, during which he told his parents that he could not, in good conscience, go along with the marriage as it had been planned.  He proposed that all parties let a year pass, and if everyone was still desirous, then the wedding would take place.  Elizabeta met his eyes as he said this, and Roderich smiled very slightly at her.

After dinner, Roderich sat down at the piano, and played for a few minutes around the bandages his father had wrapped around his cracked and skinned fingers, which were still healing.  He would play a bit more every day, he told Elizabeta again later, because it was the only thing that was still beautiful, and had always been.

He saw a bit more of the goodness of the world every day, but it was a gradual process.  The journey home had been a trek through the most awful landscapes, the cruel forest, and the cold emptiness of the tundras.  But Elizabeta took him on walks, and he played, and she showed him the wildflowers that she and Gilbert had once again started tending, and the roses, and how the sun shone on the river, and he started to smile at them.

Elizabeta watched his progress, and her heart felt lighter each day.  She spent much of her time with Roderich, while Gilbert talked to, and then worked with an engineer living in town who had known his grandfather.  However, as soon as he was done for the day, Gilbert would come and steal her away, increasingly rudely as Roderich became more grudgingly tolerant of him.

Gilbert took Elizabeta out into the forest, where they would pick wildflowers for her grandmother, and he would ask about every minute detail of her journey north.  She learned that he had been watching when he could, but knew little of her interactions with other people.  They would sometimes just run through the trees, screaming at the top of their lungs and forgetting for a while that they weren’t children anymore.  Gilbert would follow her home and demand pancakes, no matter what time they finally returned, and sometimes, when it was too late for him to go back to his apartment for the night, he slept on the spare bed in the room next to Elizabeta’s.  
He kissed her once, on a night when they were both deliriously tired, but ran home before he could see the spark it had put in her eyes.

The first time it was deemed too cold to go out, Gilbert looked over at Roderich and asked if he’d be willing to play.  Roderich nodded, and though the first piece he played was a nocturne, Gilbert spun Elizabeta about the piano room in a wild , completely out of time dance that left her dizzy and breathless and giggling for a few minutes.

After that, Roderich played waltzes, and though Gilbert didn’t know how to waltz, and Elizabeta struggled to remember, the doctor and his wife came down to join them, and even Roderich laughed a few times at their antics.

* * *

A few months later, as winter was settling in for certain, Roderich pulled Elizabeta away from the cake she was baking, and said, “In the spring, I will be leaving here.  My hands are healed, and my soul should surely be by then.”

“Where? And why?” Elizabeta asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Roderich simply smiled.  “There is no need for a pianist here, Elizabeta, and I am not fit to be anything else.  I shall be in the city, where I can make a living performing.”

“Are you asking me to come with you?”

Here was the stickiest point.  Roderich and Elizabeta held each other’s gaze for a long minute, completely silently, before he finally answered, “No.  If that is truly your wish, I would be glad to have you with me, but I do not think it is.”

Elizabeta nodded once, then embraced him.  “Thank you, Roderich.”

“No, thank you.” Roderich smiled and kissed her forehead.  “Without you, I would still be lost in the dark cruel world I saw before.  You brought me back.”

For a while they stood quietly, leaning on one another, until Elizabeta remembered the cake in the oven and ran to retrieve it.  Roderich helped her ice it quickly, then all but pushed her out the door.  “I’m not leaving tomorrow,” he said, “And you have news that a certain friend of yours is likely rather desperate to hear.”

He watched her run off towards the engineer’s shop in town with a sigh and a smile.

* * *

Gilbert and Elizabeta traveled into the city as autumn unfurled, and the forest turned orange and yellow and the first frosts covered the ground.  Elizabeta and Roderich had been writing to one another since he had relocated, and she and Gilbert decided to surprise him and attend one of his recitals.  Gilbert was less than excited for the music, but Elizabeta enjoyed Roderich’s playing, and Gilbert enjoyed seeing Elizabeta happy.

The recital itself lasted almost two hours, and Elizabeta sat calmly and quietly through the whole time, with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips.  She reached for Gilbert’s hand and held it in hers, their fingers interlaced, and let herself absorb the music that she had so missed.

Gilbert was relieved to find that none of the music was the bombastic virtuoso solos he had heard from the piano of ice in the Snow Queen’s palace.  Instead, Roderich seemed to prefer a quieter, more delicate style, which leant itself to more flexibility and expression.  It felt like reflection, like peace, and like contentment, and the notes crawled under Gilbert’s skin and soothed his itch to move.  He let his own eyes close for a moment, and thought that if he slept, his dreams might not be of the cold and dark.  He squeezed Elizabeta’s hand gently, and she squeezed back.

Afterwards, Elizabeta all but ran up to Roderich, and threw her arms around him even as he tried to make sense of their presence.   Gilbert approached a moment later, as they were talking, and expressed his congratulations to a shocked but appreciative Roderich.  They shook hands firmly, and though she would deny it later, Elizabeta watched them with the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

They stayed with Roderich, in his apartment.  He had one guest room, which was promised to Elizabeta, and Gilbert declared he would manage perfectly well on the sofa, but all three of them stayed up late into the night, drinking wine and catching up.  Roderich had a piano there as well, a sturdy upright, and played a few more pieces for them, and Elizabeta leaned against Gilbert’s shoulder on the sofa where they were both seated.

They didn’t mean to fall asleep, but sometime in the middle of the night, Gilbert woke with Elizabeta in his arms on the sofa, and a blanket over the both of them. He took a moment to just hold her, before extricating himself.  Elizabeta started to stir when he picked her up, but merely buried her face in his shoulder with a sleepy sound as he carried her to the guest room.

Roderich gave him an odd look in the morning, when he saw the rearrangement, but neither said anything.  They spent two days touring the city before Elizabeta and Gilbert had to leave again, and all agreed that they should visit each other regularly.

* * *

The next time Gilbert woke with Elizabeta curled up in his arms was in the spring, and he refused to get out of bed until she was awake.  They had been engaged for almost a month, the whole town knew, and he no longer felt like it wasn’t allowed.  His arm was numb again, as Elizabeta was sleeping on it, but he didn’t care.  He waited, running his free hand through her hair, until she was blinking sleepily at him.

“Good morning, Lizzie,” he said, smiling despite himself as she yawned, then hit him in the face as she stretched.  He laughed, she apologized, and he eventually kissed her, just to make her stop.  She was dressed in the smallest old clothes of his that he’d been able to find, while her dress dried in the bathtub after their sprint through the rain the night before, and she kept them to sleep in for years.

They married on midsummer, and Roderich came back to play the church organ, and Feliciano painted a portrait of them, which they received three days later.  Eventually, they were given the house that Elizabeta had grown up in, and lived happily there, with wildflowers in the windows all summer long, and pancakes on the winter mornings. And if the Snow Queen or her siblings ever peeked in their windows before painting the frost there or breathed cold air through the draught-holes, they never said a word, and never bothered either Elizabeta or Gilbert again.


End file.
